Fugue

 

by Jo

 

Fugue (fyoog):  a disturbed state of consciousness in which the one affected seems to perform acts in full awareness but upon recovery cannot recollect the deeds.*

 

 

Ben Cartwright sat bolt upright in bed. Even before his conscious mind identified the source of the scream, he had launched himself out of bed, barreling down the hall to his youngest son’s room as Adam and Hoss came running from the other direction.

 

Joe was sitting up in his bed, clutching the blankets. His eyes were open, and tears ran down his face. He was screaming in a way none of them had ever heard from him. Most of what he shrieked was incoherent, but those few words that they understood were chilling.

 

“Joe! Joseph! Son, it’s all right, Pa’s here.” Ben sat on the edge of the bed and grasped his son’s shoulders to ground him. Touch had always been the surest way to communicate with his youngest son. When words failed, the touch of the father’s hand had always been able to reach him, to bring strength and comfort.

 

But for the first time, his touch had the opposite effect. No sooner had Ben laid hands on his son than the young man’s terror exploded into full-blown hysteria. Wildly, he tried to shove his father away, a move so unexpected that Ben nearly fell to the floor. Joe scrambled out of the bed on the other side and backed away from the three astonished men who stood between him and the door. 

 

“It’s all right, Joe,” said Ben in his most soothing voice. Slowly, he moved toward his son as if toward a wild stallion. With a gesture, he cautioned Adam and Hoss to stay back. “It’s all right. It’s just a dream. You’re safe. Nobody’s going to hurt you, I promise.” He repeated the same words over and over, in the same gentle voice, as he gradually moved toward his son. Joe was still choking and sobbing, but his screams lessened, as if he were tiring. His eyes darted back and forth from Ben to Adam and Hoss; the closer Ben came, the more quickly his eyes moved. 

 

“It was only a dream, son,” Ben said. He reached out to Joe, gently laying a hand on the young man’s arm.

 

In a flash, Joe’s fist connected with his father’s right eye. As Ben staggered backward, Joe made a lunge for the door, but Hoss caught him.

 

“What the devil…!” The big man held Joe’s arms firmly as the boy struggled against him like a pinned wildcat. Screaming as if he were being skinned alive, he fought against his brother, more violently than any of them had ever seen. When kicking and twisting failed to free him, he tried to bite Hoss. “Joe! Stop it! Stop it!” Hoss held Joe’s arms as tightly as he could, but the young man continued to fight. Over his head, Hoss caught Adam’s eye and nodded. Grimly, Adam hauled off and belted Joe in the jaw, knocking him out.

 

The silence was so profound that for a moment, it was as if they’d all stopped breathing. Hoss gathered up his brother and laid him gently on the bed, drawing the covers over him. 

 

“What in tarnation was that all about?” he asked, as if his father or older brother would know. 

 

Adam shrugged. “You all right, Pa?”

 

“I’m fine,” said Ben. A slight exaggeration:  his youngest son had a more powerful punch than one would expect from such a wiry young man, and it had been a while since anyone had punched Ben Cartwright for any reason. Still, he’d be fine. The bigger, more troubling question was the one Hoss had asked.

 

Ben sat down on the edge of the bed. Cautiously, he reached out to stroke his son’s brow. This time, Joe didn’t move. He ran his fingers along the place on the young man’s jaw that was already starting to turn purple. “Would one of you bring up some ice?” he asked. “He’s going to be hurting when he wakes up.”

 

“We had to do it, Pa,” said Hoss.

 

“I know,” said Ben. He studied the handsome young face, still blotchy and streaked with tears. Even unconscious, Joseph looked terrified. Ben watched him for a moment, and then rose. He poured water from the pitcher into the washbowl. He carried the washbowl and the towel back over to the bed, where he dipped the towel into the water. And gently, he began to wash away his son’s tears.

 

***********

 

The first thing Joe was aware of when he awoke was pain. His jaw hurt like a sonofagun. He ran his hand along it and quickly discovered the swollen spot. Dread dropped over him like a noose. He didn’t remember getting into a fight last night, but apparently, that was just what he’d done. There would be no hiding, either. Pa was going to have his hide for this. Worse, he was going to ask questions Joe couldn’t answer.

 

Like who’d he fought with, and why.

 

Joe pulled his nightshirt over his head. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he frowned. Both his upper arms were covered with bruises, as if someone had been holding him hard. They looked pretty fresh, too. Somebody must have been holding him at some point during the fight. 

 

Strange. Usually, when that happened, they beat on his midsection. His torso was completely unscathed, though. He ran his hand over his stomach and chest. No pain, no bruising. Maybe they’d been interrupted. 

 

He pulled on his drawers and pants. At least he wouldn’t have to explain the bruises on his arms. The jaw would be bad enough. He thought of lingering up here until Pa would have finished breakfast, but he figured he’d be in even worse trouble if he was late. Better just to get it over with.

 

He buttoned his shirt slowly, delaying the inevitable. At first, he hadn’t thought much of the memory lapses. He was tired, he told himself. Distracted. Thinking about more important things. After all, who really paid attention to the ride from town back to the ranch? So, it shouldn’t have been a big deal that, last week, he suddenly found himself in the barn, unsaddling Cochise, with his last memory from seemingly a moment earlier being that of standing in front of the Bucket of Blood. That one was the longest lapse. Other lapses had been shorter, sometimes only a few minutes. He’d look down at his plate to find that he’d eaten nearly all his supper and didn’t remember a bite of it. Or, he’d be ready to go and get the axle grease out of the barn, only to find that it was already sitting beside the wheel he had to put on the wagon, and he didn’t know if he’d put it there or someone else had come and gone.

 

So far, nobody else had noticed. Adam had given him a funny look when he’d said something about fixing the fence at the north edge of Buckhorn Meadow, which he’d apparently already done, but that was about it. Whatever he was missing, he was covering up for it all right.

 

Joe pulled on his boots. He stood and regarded his face in the glass again. Try as he might, he couldn’t come up with a single shred of a memory about what had happened. 

 

Pa was going to have his hide for this one.

 

Everybody was at the table when Joe reached the bottom of the stairs, but nobody was talking. He took a deep breath and approached the table.

 

“Morning, everybody,” he said with false cheer. Adam and Hoss looked up and barely grunted. Pa looked up from his plate, and Joe’s jaw dropped.

 

“Pa! What happened to you?” Pa had a beauty of a shiner. 

 

“What do you mean, what happened to him?” asked Adam. “You did it.”

 

Joe stopped halfway into his seat. “What are you talking about?” he blurted.

 

“You’re the one who hit him,” said Adam testily. He was never at his most pleasant first thing in the morning, and the night’s events, coupled with his sore knuckles, had done nothing to improve his disposition. “The question,” he added, “is why. What did you think Pa was going to do to you?”

 

“Adam, that’s enough,” said Ben.

 

“What are you—no! I never…I would never…I couldn’t…” The thought was so horrifying that Joe couldn’t make the words come out.

 

“It’s all right, son,” said Ben, his tone soothing even as he glared at his eldest son. “It was an accident, I know. Don’t worry about it.”

 

“But—but I…I could never hit you!” Joe couldn’t stop staring at his father’s blackened eye. 

 

“I said, don’t worry about it,” said Ben, a touch of iron in his voice this time.

 

“Pa, you can’t pretend it didn’t happen,” said Adam.

 

“I am not ‘pretending’ anything,” said Ben. “Your brother struck me by accident, and that is all there is to it.”

 

“But I couldn’t have hit you!” Everything in Joe rebelled against the idea. There must have been some mistake. Maybe, in the course of whatever brawl had bruised his jaw, somebody else had hit Pa. He appealed to his big brother. “Hoss...”

 

“I’m sorry, Little Brother, but Adam’s talking’ the truth,” said Hoss regretfully. “Much as I hate to say it, you did hit Pa.” 

 

“No! It must have been somebody else!”

 

Adam laid down his fork. “Joe, there was nobody in the room but us,” he said. “We all saw you do it, so you might as well stop denying it.”

 

“Adam, that’s enough!” snapped Ben.

 

“There must be some mistake,” said Joe desperately. “I could never hit Pa, I just couldn’t.” 

 

“Joe, there was no mistake! Pa was standing right in front of you, and you hit him,” said Adam. “And then you tried to take on Hoss, and I had to belt you—which, doubtless, you remember,” he added, gesturing with his bruised hand toward Joe’s jaw.

 

“That enough!” thundered Ben. 

 

Silence dropped over the table. Joe stared at his empty plate. No. It wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t. He couldn’t have done something like that. Adam had to be wrong. He couldn’t have punched Pa. He just couldn’t have—

 

Unable to bear his own thoughts, he flung himself away from the table. He could hear Pa calling as he ran out the door, but he didn’t stop until he was in the barn, in Cochise’s stall, where he leaned against the pinto and took deep, shaky breaths. After a minute, he had regained enough control to saddle his mount, and they galloped out the yard with no destination, just a need to get away from the house.

 

Inside, Ben glared at Adam. “Are you happy now?” he demanded.

 

“Pa, whatever he was thinking, he’s got to own up—” Adam began.

 

“That is not your job!” Ben snapped. “I am his father and I am the person he hit. If I don’t have any more to say about it, then neither do you!”

 

“Pa, it’s not that easy—” Adam began, but Hoss interrupted.

 

“Was either one of you listenin’ to what he said?” the big man asked, clearly troubled.

 

“Of course,” said Adam impatiently. “He just kept denying that he’d hit Pa.”

 

Hoss shook his head. “No, Older Brother, he never said he didn’t do it,” he said. “Joe said he couldn’t have done it.”

 

“I don’t understand,” said Ben slowly.

 

“I’ve listened to Joe deny a lot of things over the years,” said Hoss. “And I’ve listened to him sweet-talk a lot of people—including me—with all his fancy half-talking. One thing about Joe—he picks his words real careful.” The others looked at him expectantly. “Joe never said he didn’t actually hit Pa; he said it warn’t possible that he did it—just like he might if he heard about it, but he warn’t there to know for sure.” He looked from his father to Adam, waiting for comprehension. When neither spoke, he offered his reluctant conclusion:  “Pa, I don’t think that boy has any idea what happened last night.”

 

“But—he was awake,” said Adam. “His eyes were open. He saw Pa there, and he hit him square in the eye.”

 

“Mebbe,” said Hoss. “Or mebbe he saw somebody, and he didn’t know who it was.”

 

“It wasn’t that dark in there,” said Ben. “There was a full moon right outside that window. Besides, I was talking to him. It’s not as if he could have mistaken me for some stranger.”

 

“Pa, I don’t know what happened, but I’d stake my life on it—Joe don’t know this morning what he did last night,” said Hoss. “And I bet he didn’t know what he was doin’ when he did it, either. He looked like he was awake, but he didn’t act like it.”

 

“You think he was still having a nightmare?” asked Ben.

 

Hoss nodded. “Mebbe.”

 

The three men were silent, considering the implications. “It doesn’t make sense,” Adam said finally. “I mean, even if we assume that this was some sort of waking nightmare—these things don’t just come out of the blue. Something must have happened to upset him pretty badly. Has he mentioned anything to either of you?” His father and brother shook their heads. 

 

“He seemed fine before he went up to bed,” said Hoss. 

 

“He hasn’t said a word about anything bothering him,” agreed Ben.

 

“Then I don’t understand,” said Adam. “The kid’s never had nightmares like this that I can recall. Only time I can remember that was even close was way back after his mother died.” He fell silent, remembering the little boy of nearly twenty years earlier.

 

Ben remembered, too. Little Joe had seemed all right in the first few weeks after Marie’s death—crying, of course, and sad and lonely, but generally all right. Then, about three months later, when the rest of them were just beginning to settle into their changed lives, the little boy’s nightmares began. Night after night, his screams split the darkness. For a time, Ben had brought the boy into his own bed in the hopes that Little Joe would be comforted by the nearness of his remaining parent. Eventually, the nightmares lessened, and finally stopped, and Little Joe returned to his own room. While Joe had certainly had nightmares in the intervening years, never had they been as intense and violent as those early ones.

 

Until last night.

 

“Of course,” he murmured, shaking his head. When his sons looked at him quizzically, Ben said, “When Marie died—the nightmares didn’t come until months later.”

 

Adam nodded, understanding. “And it’s been about three months since—the attack,” he concluded, using the euphemism the family had employed since they first received word of what had happened.

 

It was a story too familiar to be noteworthy to any but those directly involved:  a stagecoach trying to make up lost time by taking a shortcut it shouldn’t have an Indian attack, unspeakable acts of torture. From what they could piece together afterward, Joe’s survival was sheer luck, or grace, depending on who was doing the telling. The others, mutilated and scalped, lay mercifully dead nearby, but the braves had been so amused by the tenacity of the young pup that they kept him alive, taunting him and laughing as he ran at them, beating him and placing bets on how many times he would rise again. When at last they tired of their sport, they seized his curls and had the tomahawk at the back of his neck, ready to take his scalp, when a brigade in search of an entire different troop appeared over the rise. The young man was forgotten in a flurry of arrows and bullets, and somehow, he was protected in the shadow of the stagecoach until the Indians were gone and the soldiers were taking stock of the carnage. 

 

By the time the Cartwrights rode into the fort three days later, Joe was up and around. His ribs had been bound, his cuts and bruises tended, and the wound at the base of his skull had been stitched by the army doctor. He greeted them as casually as if they were simply meeting his stage as planned. 

 

The haunted look in his eyes was not so easily treated, but he hid it almost well enough. 

 

Adam took an officer aside and demanded to know what had happened. The officer, an older brother himself, was sympathetic, and he quietly arranged for Adam and Hoss to sit down with one of the soldiers who had been at the scene, while Ben walked with Joe slowly around the grounds. At first, the soldier was reluctant to tell the story, but when Hoss stood, towering over him, he told what he’d seen. When he finished, the Cartwright brothers were silent. 

 

“At least your brother survived,” he pointed out hopefully. He didn’t tell them that, even just coming on the scene after most of the damage was done, he’d had nightmares for nearly a week. He couldn’t imagine how it would be for the young man who had watched it all happen. It occurred to him that the survivor might not think survival such a good thing.

 

Joe bounced back much faster than any of them would have expected, though. There were no unusual temper flare-ups, no depression or despondency. As soon as his ribs were healed, Joe was back at work, throwing himself into the running of the ranch as if nothing had ever happened. He broke every bronc he could get his hands on. He actually volunteered to help with the branding. The son who had always been the last one up was often out of the house before the others were even downstairs.

 

He never mentioned what had happened. Not once. His family, respecting his wishes, likewise remained silent.

 

Eventually, the only lingering effects were the look in his eyes and his refusal to get his hair cut. Assuming a connection between the latter and the healing wound, Ben did not push the issue, and Joe’s hair now curled over his collar, hiding the scar. 

 

And no one commented on how the once-sparkling green eyes went dull whenever Joe thought himself unobserved.

 

Now, with three of them bearing bruises from the night before, Ben was convinced that Joe’s recovery had not been as seamless as they’d thought. Clearly, there was something else that was just now manifesting itself. Considering what the boy had seen and endured, he realized that this was not just possible—it was likely.

 

“D’you want me to go after him?” asked Hoss. He’d been planning to head into town to see his girl, Anna, but he knew she’d wait. She was a busy lawyer, and she’d have plenty to keep her occupied until he arrived.

 

Ben considered the question. “Let him be,” he said finally. “He’ll come back when he’s ready. Since he didn’t eat any breakfast, I imagine we’ll see him by supper at the latest.”

 

Ben’s prediction proved to be accurate. Dusk was just falling, and the moon was rising, when Joe rode back into the yard. He tended to Cochise carefully, postponing the moment when he would have to go back inside and see his father. He accepted Adam’s statement that he had hit Pa—after all, Adam would have no reason to lie about such a thing. But the idea that he was capable of striking his father shook him to the core. He’d have sworn that such a thing could never, ever happen, that he’d sooner commit murder than hit Pa. The idea flitted across his mind:  what else might he do that he’d once have thought impossible? 

 

At last, he screwed up his courage and crossed the yard. The lights of the house were warm and inviting. For a moment, he felt a chill, as if he were seeing his home for the last time, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. 

 

He let himself in quietly, as if it were possible to slip unnoticed into the small group that would sit around the table. He hadn’t seen either Adam’s or Hoss’ horse in the barn, and so he knew he had a moment’s respite there. He made himself walk around the corner to where his father sat at his desk.

 

“Hey, Pa,” he said casually.

 

Ben looked up and smiled with genuine pleasure. Joe saw again the black eye, and he had to close his eyes. When he opened them, Pa had laid down his pen and was looking at him somberly. “Joseph,” he said. “I need to ask you something.” He gestured to the chair beside the desk, and Joe sat. Ben drew his own chair closer, until they were practically knee to knee. “Son, about last night—”

 

“Pa, I’m so sorry,” Joe interrupted. “I just can’t believe I did that. I’m so sorry.”

 

“Sssssh,” said Ben. “There’s no need for apologies. It was an accident. I know that. But Joe, I need to ask you—what do you remember about last night?” He saw a dart of pure terror flash in his son’s eyes. 

 

“Well, umm—I remember—well, Hoss and I played checkers, and I beat him five games straight, and he got all upset and went up to bed,” said Joe. “And then you and I went up, and Adam stayed down here. And we said good night, and I went into my room and got undressed and got into bed.”

 

“And what’s the next thing you remember after that?” Ben asked, gently probing.

 

Joe was silent. His gaze turned inward, as if the answer were to be found somewhere deep inside himself. Ben waited, his frown deepening as the silence lengthened. His son wasn’t stalling; of that, Ben was certain. Even before he finally spoke, his father knew the answer.

 

At last, Joe whispered, “I remember waking up this morning and my jaw was sore.”

 

Carefully, steadily, Ben asked, “Do you remember any of us being in your room last night?” Wordlessly, Joe shook his head. “Do you remember anything you dreamed about?” Again the silent headshake. “Do you remember anything at all after you got into bed?”

 

“Nothing,” confessed Joe. “Not until I woke up this morning.” He forced himself to look up, and Pa’s deep brown eyes were so warm and understanding and safe that he nearly told him about all the other things that he couldn’t remember. But just then, Adam and Hoss came bursting in the door, and the moment was over.

 

************

This time, when he came back to himself, he was standing in the barn, gasping for breath. Cochise’s flanks were heaving as well, as though they’d run a long way together. From town, probably. That was the last thing he remembered, walking down C Street. 

 

It was the fourth time since the nightmare that he’d had a memory lapse of significant length. For the first week after that night, he’d been careful to stay near the house, around people. To his family’s surprise, he’d offered to do mundane tasks, such as cleaning out the barn, in the hope that, even when his mind went missing, his hands would be able perform well enough to cover up what was happening. This strategy seemed to work, because no one had commented on anything different, and his brothers would definitely have spoken up. More days passed, and eventually, he felt confident that he had the problem under control. He didn’t know how to stop the lapses, but at least he could hide them.

 

But then, Pa had come into the barn and asked him to do the banking and pick up the mail. Maybe it was the bruises still visible around his father’s eye, or maybe Joe was just a little too cocky. Whatever the reason, he’d agreed, and he’d gone into Virginia City, alone.

 

Now, as he stood in the barn in the darkness of the autumn evening, he knew in his gut that something bad had happened. He could feel the cold hand of fear on the back of his neck, holding him motionless.

 

And then he lifted his hand, and he saw the blood.

 

Blood was everywhere—his hands, his jacket, Cochise’s neck where he’d touched the horse. His shirt, where it had soaked through his jacket. Tentatively, he reached up with the back of his hand to touch his cheek, and he found dried blood on his face. 

 

But he felt no pain, other than a gash in his right arm, and it was not possible that so much blood had come from one simple slice.

 

He began to tremble, and trembling increased to shaking as understanding dawned.

 

The blood wasn’t his.

 

In due course, he pulled himself together enough to tend to his horse. He fetched a bucket of water from the trough outside and carried it into the barn so that he could wash the blood off his hands and face without being seen. He dropped his jacket in a corner of the stall where it would be unnoticed until he could figure out what to do with it. His arm was still bleeding a little bit, and it hurt like the devil, but he ignored it while he focused on the things he could think about. He unsaddled the pinto and groomed him, washing the red blood off the white neck. Slowly, carefully, he curried and brushed and cleaned hooves. Then, he sat down on a bale of hay and began to oil his saddle. Anything to postpone the moment when he would have to go inside. 

 

But luck was not with him, and no sooner had he begun to work the leather than Hoss appeared in the barn doorway. “It’s about time you got back,” he said cheerfully. “We been waitin’ supper. C’mon, let’s go.”

 

“In a minute,” said Joe. His voice sounded strained even to his own ears.

 

Hoss hadn’t spent most of his life watching out for his little brother without learning a few things, and one was the difference between orneriness and real trouble. Before Joe quite realized it, Hoss was standing over him. The cheer had vanished, and his blue eyes were somber. “What’s the matter?” Joe shook his head, but Hoss saw the blood on his brother’s shirtsleeve. “What happened to your arm?”

 

Joe shook his head again. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

 

“Looks like an awful lot of blood for ‘nothing’,” said Hoss. “Lemme see.” As if Joe was still a child, Hoss seized his brother’s wrist and held it firmly as he pulled back the sleeve. His eyes widened at the sight of the wound. It was more than three inches long, and it was deep and crusted in dried blood. Already, the surrounding area was swollen and warm. Joe forced himself to remain still as Hoss gently examined his arm. Finally, Hoss looked up. His face was grim. “How’d this happen?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Joe. It sounded like a lie, and he wished it was. How could a person not know how his arm got slashed?

 

“Joe, this looks like it was done with a knife,” said Hoss. “We gotta get this cleaned up, mebbe stitched. How’d it happen? Were you in a fight?”

 

“Are you deaf? I said I don’t know!” Joe yanked his arm out of Hoss’ grasp and flung himself into Cochise’s stall, steadying himself against the horse, who nickered softly.

 

“Joe, what the devil happened?” Hoss grabbed his shoulder and turned him roughly. 

 

Helplessly, Joe shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

 

Hoss searched his brother’s eyes for a sign of dissembling. Instead, he saw fear bordering on panic. “Well, you come on inside, and we’ll get that arm cleaned up, anyway,” he said after a long silence. “Where’s your jacket?” No answer. “Joe, where’s your jacket? It’s cold.” 

 

“Right there.” The words were barely more than breath. 

 

Hoss turned. The jacket lay crumpled in a corner of the stall. Even in the fading light of the barn, he could see the darkness of the stains on the green fabric. Dread filled his mouth with a metallic taste as he picked up the garment and saw just how much blood covered it. Then, he turned back to his brother.

 

“Joe…” His voice died out. The brothers stood silently, one holding the other’s blood-soaked jacket. Finally, Hoss reached out and laid his arm around Joe’s shoulders, shepherding him out of the stall. “Let’s get that arm fixed up first,” he said hoarsely. 

 

With an obedience nearly unheard-of in Joe Cartwright, the younger man bowed his head and allowed himself to be guided out of the barn and into the house. He had no choices any more. 

 

***********

 “Well, that should take care of that,” said Doc Martin, smoothing the bandage in place. “You take it easy with that arm for a few days. Don’t be pulling my stitches out before they’re ready to come out,” he added, dropping the sling over Joe’s head and tucking the arm into it. Then, the jollity in his voice deepened into something more serious. “And you have no idea how this happened?”

 

“None,” said Joe. Ben sat beside him on the settee, arm along the back behind his son, offering silent support as the doctor perched on the table in front of his patient. Adam and Hoss stood behind the doctor, shifting uneasily. In the background, Hop Sing hovered. 

 

 “What’s the last thing you remember before you were in the barn here?” asked the doctor.

 

Joe thought. “I did the banking, and then I picked up the mail. I was walking down C Street, and—there was something, some noise—I don’t remember what. And the next thing I knew, I was here.”

 

The doctor looked serious. “How long has this been going on?”

 

“A few weeks,” admitted Joe. When the doctor said nothing, he allowed, “Maybe a month, or a month and a half.” No one spoke, and Joe said, “Less than two months, I’m sure.”

 

“And you say you haven’t hit your head, gotten knocked out, anything like that?”

 

“Well—other than when Adam hit me a couple weeks ago, no,” said Joe reluctantly.

 

The doctor frowned. “How many times have you had these memory lapses?” Joe shrugged. “How often do they happen? Once a week? More?”

 

“At first, not very much at all,” said Joe. “And they were short, maybe a few minutes. Then, they started to get longer—I’d be out riding, or I’d be in town, and suddenly I was here. Sometimes, they’re still short, but sometimes they’re longer.”

 

“Did the lapses become more frequent?” Joe nodded. “How often are they coming now?” 

 

Joe looked apologetically at his father, and Ben nodded encouragingly. Joe took a deep breath and turned to the doctor. “Nearly every day,” he admitted. Abruptly, Ben sat up straighter, and Joe didn’t have to look to know he was frowning. “I’m sorry, Pa,” Joe said, meaning it. “I should have said something.”

 

“Yes, you should have,” said Ben sternly. He rested his hand on his son’s arm. “But don’t worry about that now,” he said, softening. “The important thing is that you’ve told us.” He turned to the doctor. “Is there anything we can do?”

 

The doctor shook his head. “I’ve heard of this happening, but there’s no medicine that I can give him,” he said. “Hopefully, the fugues will pass on their own.”

 

“’Fugues’?” asked Hoss, frowning at the unfamiliar word.

 

The doctor nodded. “’Fugue’ is the medical term. It refers to a state of consciousness where the person seems to be present and going along just fine, but later, the person has no recollection of what happened.”

 

“So—Joe might not remember tomorrow that we were all here now?” Hoss’ brotherly caretaker instincts were prickling. 

 

“Possibly,” said the doctor. “Given the fact that he’s talking now, and he’s making sense, I’d guess that that’s unlikely, but I suppose it could happen. It can be difficult to know whether someone is fully present or in a fugue state. As a practical matter, though, I’d say that if he seems to be withdrawing and not noticing what’s going on around him, this could be a sign.”

 

“What do we do then?” asked Ben. He put a protective arm around his son’s shoulders, as if he could keep Joe’s mind present by the force of his own will.

 

“Keep a close eye on him,” said the doctor. “As far as I know, there’s no way to prevent it or interrupt it, if that’s what you’re asking. All you can really do is to make sure he doesn’t get himself into any trouble while he’s—well, gone.”

 

“You said these fugues could pass on their own,” said Adam. “How long is that going to take?”

 

Again, the doctor shook his head. “According to the literature, this type of thing can be the result of an experience that’s just too awful for the mind to handle. War survivors sometimes have these types of episodes—their minds try to cope with what they’ve lived through by forgetting. Obviously, the only event Joe’s had recently that rises to that level was that attack a few months ago. So, if we assume that these memory lapses are related to that—it’s taken a while for them to begin, and I expect it’ll take a while for them to fade out—if that’s what’s going to happen.”

 

“What do you mean, ‘if’?” asked Hoss. “What else could happen?”

 

The doctor looked from one Cartwright to another. “There’s been very little study done into this type of thing,” he said carefully. “There’s no way to know how a person’s mind is going to react. It doesn’t do any of us any good for me to sit here and try to guess about the future.” The only guesses that he could make were that either the fugues would stop, or the boy would finally disappear into whatever shadowy place his mind inhabited during these lapses. He would not tell these good people these choices, not now. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Joe was the only one who hadn’t been asking questions. There was, he suspected, a reason for the young man’s silence.

 

Doc decided to shift the conversation. “For tonight, I’m going to tell you this,” he said. “As far as I can tell, Joe, you lost a lot of blood with that gash. I want you to rest up for the next day or so, and try not to do too much with that arm for a few days. As far as the rest goes…” He looked around the group again, “…I suggest that you not go off on your own for a while. Stay with somebody who can keep an eye on things and remind you what’s going on.” He saw Hop Sing standing by the table, holding a tray, and smiled.

 

“Doctor like coffee?” The little man advanced.

 

“Thank you, Hop Sing, I’d love some,” Doc said. As Hop Sing poured, the doctor continued, “Is it just the memory lapses, or is anything else going on?”

 

Joe looked to his father. Understanding, Ben said, “There was one night a couple weeks ago when Joe had a pretty bad nightmare. We couldn’t seem to get him to wake up, and he was fighting us.”

 

“I hit Pa,” said Joe tonelessly.

 

If the doctor was shocked, he gave no sign. Instead, he asked, “Do you remember any of this?”

 

Joe shook his head. “I woke up in the morning with bruises from where they had to hold me and Adam had to punch me, but I didn’t remember anything. I still don’t. They told me all about it, but I don’t remember.”

 

“Was that the only episode like that?” asked Doc.

 

A firm knock at the door drowned out Ben’s affirmative. Hastily, Hop Sing set down the coffee tray and hurried to the door. 

 

Roy Coffee looked solemn. He looked around the room, his gaze coming to rest on Joe. “Evening, Ben, Doc, boys, Hop Sing,” he said.

 

“Evening, Roy,” said Ben, standing. “What can we do for you? There’s some coffee if you’d like.”

 

“Sorry, Ben, but this ain’t a social call,” Roy said. “I got a warrant for Little Joe’s arrest.”

 

The young man went pale. The doctor looked sharply at him. Instinctively, Adam and Hoss moved closer to their brother. The crackling of the fire, so soft and comforting a moment earlier, was suddenly loud and harsh. 

 

“For what? Roy, come in, sit down.” Ben tried desperately to make this a normal evening.

 

“Ben, I can’t stay,” Roy said. “I got a warrant to arrest Little Joe for the murder of Frank Grayson.”

 

“Murder? Of who?” 

 

“Frank Grayson,” said Roy. “Drifter who’d been in town for a few days. Found in an alley with a hunting knife stuck in his ribs. I got a witness who says she saw Little Joe running down the street with blood all over his jacket right near that alley.” He peered at Joe, who had still not moved. “You in town today, Joe?” No one spoke. No one moved. No one met his eyes. Finally, the sheriff singled out the one who was always in charge:  “Ben, what’s going on?” 

 

“Roy…” Ben drew a deep breath. “Please, sit down. I need to talk to you.”

 

The sheriff listened as Ben explained. When Ben finished, Roy was silent for a while. He set down his coffee cup and regarded Ben and Joe. At last, he said, “Joe, I’m sorry, but if you can’t give me a reason to believe you didn’t do it, I gotta take you in.”

 

“I know,” said Joe. Of all of them, he seemed least disturbed at the thought.

 

“Roy, please, not tonight,” said Ben. “I’ll bring him in first thing in the morning—but not tonight.”

 

“Pa, it’s all right,” said Joe. He started to rise, but Ben restrained him with a hand on his unbandaged arm.

 

“Roy, just let him stay here tonight,” Ben said. “You have my word that he won’t go anywhere and he’ll be in your office first thing in the morning.”

 

“Ben, I’d like to oblige you, I surely would, but you know I can’t do that,” said Roy. “Too many people know Little Joe was near that alley with all that blood on him. If’n I don’t bring him in, everybody’s gonna think the Cartwrights is I’ special treatment, and that won’t go well for Joe at the trial. Now, if you can give me a medical reason why he shouldn’t go, well, that’d be different.”

 

All heads turned to the doctor. “He lost a lot of blood with that wound,” said Doc. “He needs to rest. He shouldn’t be riding tonight.”

 

“Wa’al, that’s more like it,” said Roy. He stood. “Ben, you bring him in first thing in the morning, and…”

 

“I’m going with you now,” said Joe, standing, albeit unsteadily.

 

“Joseph, what are you talking about? Roy said…” his father began.

 

“I know what Roy said,” interrupted Joe. “I’m going back with him tonight.”

 

“Little Joe, you don’t have to come tonight,” said Roy. “Doc says you shouldn’t be riding, and that’s good enough for me.”

 

“I’m fine to ride,” said Joe. “Adam, can I borrow your coat?”

 

“Of course,” said Adam. “But Joe, you really should stay here for tonight—”

 

“Don’t you understand?” Joe burst out, his voice hoarse, desperate with unshed tears. “Don’t any of you understand?”

 

“Understand what, son?” asked Ben gently. 

 

“That’s where I should be,” Joe whispered.

 

Hoss stepped forward. “Joe, you didn’t do this, I know you didn’t,” he said.

 

“You know? How can you know? How can you possibly know that when I don’t even know that?” The young man stood tensely, his breathing hard and rough as he fought back tears. “What are you going to do if I stay here? Keep watch outside my room all night? Tie me to the bedposts? How can you possibly guarantee that I’ll be here in the morning when I can’t guarantee that?” he demanded, his voice breaking.

 

Ben turned to the doctor and the sheriff. “Would you give us a minute, please?” Both men nodded and stepped outside. The door closed after them, and all was silent.

 

Wordlessly, Ben embraced his youngest son, willing his own strength to be enough for both of them. For a moment, Joe stood still. Then, his resolve crumbled, and he slid his arm from the sling to grab onto his father with both hands, clinging as if he were drowning. Ben held him tightly and stroked his hair as Joe broke down and wept, his worst fears suddenly a horrible reality. Adam and Hoss rested their hands on Joe’s back, and the four men stood together, connected, needing no words. 

 

“Joseph, I think you should stay here tonight,” said Ben at last, when Joe was quiet.

 

Joe released his grasp, wiping his eyes as he met his father’s. Without comment, Ben handed Joe his handkerchief, and his son managed a small smile of thanks. 

 

“I’m going with him, Pa,” Joe said, resolute. “At least that way, I won’t have to wonder later where I went or what I did.” 

 

Adam laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Just so you know that we’re not wondering,” he said. “We know you didn’t kill this man, even if you don’t.”

 

“How can you know?” The question was quieter than before, but no less intense.

 

“Because we know you,” said Hoss. Ben and Adam nodded their assent. 

 

Standing before his family, eyes red and skin blotchy, the boy looked impossibly young. Ben knew that, if he insisted, Joe would stay at home tonight. He also knew, though, that as much as he wanted to protect his youngest son, the decision wasn’t his. Reluctantly, he said, “Son, if you’d rather go with Roy—”

 

“I would,” said Joe.

 

“All right, then,” said his father. “Just let me get my things.”

 

“Your things... Pa, you don’t have to go with me,” said Joe. “I can handle this myself.”

 

“I know you can,” said Ben. He laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “But I’m not going just for you.” He searched the young man’s eyes, and the flicker of a smile told him that Joe understood.

 

“Okay, then,” Joe said quietly. “Let’s go.”

 

***********

 

The stars dotted the crisp night sky as the horse pulling the doctor’s rig trotted along the well-trod road to Virginia City. Roy had ridden on ahead, while Adam and Hoss rode behind the buggy. At Doc’s quiet suggestion, Ben rode in the back seat of the buggy with Joe, who had fallen asleep almost as soon as they left the house.

 

“Ben, I wasn’t just trying to keep Joe out of jail before when I said he should be resting tonight,” Paul Martin had said in a low voice as the others bustled about, saddling horses and gathering overnight items. “He’s wounded and he’s lost a fair bit of blood, in addition to the strain of everything else. He should be upstairs in bed with a brandy, not riding into town in the middle of the night.”

 

“I agree completely,” said Ben. “But it wasn’t up to me.” He smiled ruefully at the doctor, who shook his head in wonder.

 

“It seems like only yesterday that I was handing him to you, all wrapped up in a blanket,” said Doc. Little Joe had been one of the first babies he’d delivered, and he’d taken a certain proprietary interest in the young man ever since. 

 

“Right now, I wish we were back there again,” Ben admitted as the sound of drawers opening and closing upstairs underscored the fact that everyone was leaving the house. Joe had tried to persuade his brothers to stay at home, but Adam and Hoss were adamant.

 

“If it was one of us, we couldn’t keep you here with chains,” Hoss pointed out. 

 

Unable to argue the fact, Joe took the oblique approach. “This is just an excuse so you can go and see Anna,” he retorted, and he ducked as Hoss threw a boot at him. 

 

Out in the yard came the next argument. “I meant what I said before,” said the doctor. “I don’t want you riding tonight. If you insist on going in—and I still think that’s a mistake—I want you in the buggy.”

 

Joe pulled Adam’s mustard-colored coat closer around his shoulders; even without the sling, the bandaged arm didn’t quite fit into the sleeve. “Doc, I’m perfectly capable—” he began.

 

“Joseph.” Ben’s stern tone left no room for dispute. “Listen to the doctor.” Recognizing Joe as an adult didn’t require him to cede all of his authority as a parent.

 

“But, Pa—” 

 

“Joseph.” On his father’s lips, the one word carried a thousand meanings, and at that moment, Joe heard them all, from “Stop arguing and do as you’re told” to “I love you, son.” He saw the grief etched into his father’s face, and his heart ached with the knowledge that he was responsible for that pain. 

 

“Yes, sir,” he said quietly. He tossed his satchel into the back seat of Doc’s buggy and prepared to climb into the front.

 

“You know, if you ride in the back seat, you’ll probably be able to get some sleep on the way into town,” said Doc casually. “Nothing personal against your jail, Roy, but it’s hardly the International House.”

 

“My jail’s a perfectly fine place to sleep!” huffed Roy. “And Little Joe knows that as well as anybody! He’s sure slept there enough times!”

 

“It ain’t been that many times!” protested Joe with mock indignation. Silently, Ben blessed his friends for their ability to bring a bit of lightness to his son in such a dark moment. 

 

In the end, Joe climbed into the back seat of Doc’s buggy. He seemed surprised for a moment when his father followed, but his expression said as clearly as words that he knew Ben needed to ride with him, and so he did not lodge the expected protest. And shortly after they left the house, when Joe started to nod off, he did not object when Ben put his arm around him so that he could rest his head on his father’s shoulder. 

 

“Is he asleep?” asked the doctor softly from the front seat.

 

“Has been for a while,” whispered Ben. He adjusted the blanket he’d spread over his son and rested his cheek on Joe’s curls for a moment. 

 

The doctor nodded. He’d expected as much. 

 

They rode in silence for a while before Ben forced himself to ask the question that had been haunting him for hours. “Paul, what’s going to happen to him?”

 

The doctor shook his head. “I wish I knew,” he said. 

 

“Is it possible that—with whatever this memory thing is—is it possible that he could have done something that’s so completely out of character?” Ben tried to keep his voice quiet, lest Joe awaken to hear such a conversation.

 

“I can’t say for certain, but my guess is no,” said the doctor. “What could happen, though, is that he does something that’s in character, except that he has some wrong information, and so it doesn’t make sense—like hitting you, for example. You said, and I tend to agree, that he didn’t realize it was you that he hit.”

 

“So, you think that it’s possible that he killed this Grayson fellow, not because of who Grayson was, but because he thought the man was somebody else?”

 

“Maybe,” said the doctor. “Or maybe he thought Grayson was attacking him or something. The problem is that, without Joe being able to tell us anything, it’s all speculation.”

 

As Ben was about to answer, Joe shifted in his sleep, nestling against his father as he hadn’t done since he was a boy. Ben was thankful that it was too dark for anyone to see the tears that suddenly welled up as he drew his son closer. He refused to believe that this was the last time Joe would leave the Ponderosa. It simply couldn’t be. And so he turned his eyes and his thoughts heavenward, and he held his sleeping son close as the little group continued their relentless progression toward Virginia City. 

 

**********

 

It was nearly midnight by the time they reached Virginia City, and well past that before they’d sorted everyone out. The doctor insisted on having a look at Joe’s arm before retiring for the night. Hoss and Adam took the horses to the livery stable and went over to the International House to check in. Roy escorted Joe into a cell, and Ben stood outside the bars as the door clanged shut.

 

“You just go back to sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning,” said Ben. His throat tightened as his son managed a small smile. Tousle-headed and bleary-eyed, Joe looked like a schoolboy as he stood, yawning, on the other side of the bars.

 

“Night, Pa,” Joe said. His arm was throbbing, and his neck was stiff. He couldn’t wait to lie down properly. Not that he expected to be able to sleep—there was a world of difference between sleeping out in the fresh air with his father holding him close, and lying in a jail cell. Still, he was here by choice, and at least now, he knew that he was safe. There was no way that he could get out, no way that he could do anything else. 

 

No way that his mind could wander away and allow his hands to spill someone’s blood.

 

So, Joe yanked off his boots and dropped the sling on the floor as he lay down on the cot, pulling the rough wool blanket up over himself. Doc sure was right about this not being the International House, he thought wryly as he tried to find a comfortable position on the lumpy mattress. He doubled the thin pillow over and tucked it under his head as if it would then approximate his soft feather pillows at home. The faint, musty odor of the cell’s last unwashed resident hung in the darkness, and Joe tried to breathe shallowly.

 

He closed his eyes and did his best not to think any more. He could hear the low voices of his father and the sheriff on the other side of the closed door. He wondered how long Pa intended to stay. For just a second, before he hushed it, the little boy part of him admitted that he wanted Pa to stay right here all night. Dumb kid, he chastised himself.

 

On the other side of the closed door, Ben and Roy regarded each other. “I guess I should head over to the hotel,” said Ben, not moving.

 

The pain in his old friend’s eyes was more than Roy could stand. “Clem’s out of town,” he said simply. He picked up Ben’s satchel, which still sat on the floor by the door, and dropped it on the deputy’s cot in the little side room.

 

“Thank you, Roy,” Ben whispered. He knew that his son was an adult, but right then, he wanted nothing more than to go back in and sit by Joe’s bed, stroking his curls and reassuring him that nothing bad could happen now. Sheer foolishness, he knew, but just imagining it made him feel better. I’m here, son, he wanted to call out, but he didn’t. Joe would think him silly and overprotective. 

 

Ben stretched out on the cot and closed his eyes, trying to convince himself that there was nothing to worry about. An hour later, with sleep still elusive, he rose and padded in his socks across the chilly floor to the closed door separating the office from the cells. Silently, he eased the door open. As he closed it behind him, the latch made the tiniest click.

 

“Who’s there?” came Joe’s voice in the darkness, alert and fully awake. “Roy? Is that you?”

 

“It’s just me, son,” Ben called softly. 

 

“Pa?” Joe was at the bars in a heartbeat. “Pa, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you back at the hotel?”

 

“Thought I’d keep Roy company,” Ben said lightly. “Clem’s out of town.” Instinctively, Joe reached through the bars to his father, and Ben caught his son’s hand and pressed it against his face. They stood together in the darkness of the jail, in silence rich with unspoken words, until they began to shiver from the cold.

 

At last, Ben let go. “You go back to sleep now,” he whispered. “You’re going to need your strength tomorrow.” 

 

Joe smiled tremulously. He had all the strength he needed right now. “Good night, Pa,” he whispered.

 

“Good night, son.” 

 

Each went back to his bed. And this time, they slept.

 

**********

 

Ben awoke to the sound of voices. Guiltily, he jumped up and splashed water on his face. Boots, a clean shirt, and a quick glance in the glass to ensure that he could get by without shaving, and he was ready to go.

 

Hoss was hanging up Anna’s cloak when Ben entered the office. “Good morning, everyone,” Ben said. His older sons exchanged a look that was clearly meant to pass unnoticed, so Ben focused his attention on the lady. “Anna, how are you?” he asked. 

 

He still hadn’t quite gotten over the fact that Hoss’ girl was a lawyer. When she’d arrived in Virginia City the year before, Adam and Joe had made vigorous attempts to court her, but the lady knew what she wanted. Although most people in town still thought big, ungainly Hoss, with his plainspoken ways, an odd choice for the beautiful Chicago lawyer, Ben had watched the couple carefully for months, and he was pleased with what he saw. 

 

Hoss and Anna cherished and relied upon each other’s unique qualities and talents, and they had meshed their worlds to come up with something rare and beautiful. Ben chuckled to himself when Hoss came bounding into the house, equally excited when Anna had won a case or when she finally managed to figure out how to get a western saddle onto the mare he’d given her for her birthday. The petite blonde was his son’s most vigorous defender, and Ben and Hoss would sit back at dinner, vastly amused, as Anna lit into Adam or Joe about some chance comment they’d made about her beloved. Separately, Hoss and Anna were impressive; together, they were formidable.

 

Perhaps more importantly, each had the wisdom to understand that no one person would meet their every need. So, Hoss beamed with pride as Anna sparred verbally with Adam, not at all bothered by the fact that he could never have been her equal in such a debate. And Anna, a city girl who had always had servants, had had no compunction about admitting to Hoss, a man who enjoyed a good meal, that she couldn’t cook. Even now, and despite the best efforts of Hoss and Hop Sing to teach her, Anna was a dreadful cook. After a series of highly unsuccessful meals, Hoss had quietly procured for her a cook, one of Hop Sing’s many cousins. 

 

“’Sides, think of how much time you’ll save by not bein’ in the kitchen,” Hoss had said, pulling her close. 

 

“All that free time,” mused Anna. “Do you suppose we’ll be able to figure something to do with it?”

 

“I reckon we can come up with something,” Hoss grinned, kissing her lightly at first, and then more deeply as she pressed herself into his embrace.

 

Now, in the sheriff’s office, Anna was all business. “I’m fine, Mr. Cartwright,” she said. “The question is, how are you all?”

 

“We’re fine,” said Ben, aware at that moment of how much he sounded like Joe. “Thank you for doing this,” he added, taking her hands.

 

“I’m glad that I can be of assistance,” said Anna, kissing his cheek. She gathered up her portfolio and opened the door to the cells. “Good morning, Joe,” she said.

 

“Morning, Anna,” said Joe. “Morning, everybody,” he added as his father and brothers followed Anna to Joe’s cell.

 

Anna turned to Hoss. “Hoss, where are the keys?”

 

“I don’t know if Roy would want us opening up his cells,” said Hoss.

 

“This isn’t a social call,” said Anna. “I’m his lawyer. I’m sure Roy won’t have a problem with that.” Ben was careful not to look at Adam, who put his hand over his mouth to cover his grin. Hoss turned away from her before he rolled his eyes. When Anna moved into her lawyer role, it was best just to get out of her way. And if Roy had a problem with that—well, one thing they all knew was that they wouldn’t want to be in Roy’s boots just then.

 

Hoss opened the door, and Anna turned. “Thank you, darling. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse us, I need to talk to my client.”

 

“Excuse you? What are you talking about?” Hoss asked.

 

“I think she’s telling you to get out,” said Joe. “Thanks for coming, Anna,” he added, hugging her.

 

“Good morning, Joe,” she said. To see her smile at him, anybody would have thought it was the easiest case in the world. She turned back to the others. “Joe’s absolutely right,” she said. “I need to speak with him alone.”

 

“But why?” Hoss demanded. 

 

“I’ll be right back,” she said to Joe. “Will you gentlemen come with me for a moment?”

 

“I think you’re in trouble, Big Brother,” called Joe as Anna shepherded the group into the main office.

 

She closed the door, and her smile dropped. “I understand that this is difficult for all of you,” she said in a low voice. “But I also understand that what you’re experiencing is a fraction of what Joe’s going through. Protecting him is my first priority, and that includes protecting him against well-meaning interference. You’ve asked me to represent him, and I assume from this request that that means that you trust me. I will keep you informed and involved as much as I can without compromising his right to confidentiality, but I have neither the time nor the inclination to justify every little decision I make. Either you trust me, or you don’t. If you don’t, kindly say so now so that Joe can have new counsel as soon as possible. There isn’t time for nonsense.”

 

The men were silent. Then, Hoss stepped forward. “Anna, he’s your client, and I know that’s important to you, but he’s our—he’s our Little Joe.”

 

Anna softened. “Do you think I don’t understand that? I’ve spent the past year watching you all together. Believe me. I know exactly what’s riding on this case.” Her blue eyes met Hoss’, and he knew what she meant. 

 

For a moment, he wanted to tell her not to take the case. He wanted the lawyer to be a stranger, someone he didn’t know, didn’t love. Someone who, if the worst happened, he wouldn’t have to look at every day and every night till death did them part, always wondering if she’d made a mistake that had cost him his brother.

 

But he didn’t say it. There were things about Anna Simmons that Hoss had learned, and one of them was that there was no telling her what to do. He thought of asking instead, but in the next second, he knew that he wouldn’t do it. Little Joe needed the best lawyer there was, and Anna Simmons was the best. Whatever that might cost him and Anna personally—well, it was worth it if it meant that Joe could come home after it was all over.

 

“What do you need for us to do?” he asked. Anna stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. He was so transparent to her. She knew that his own internal battle wasn’t over, and it wouldn’t be until Joe walked back in the door of the ranch house, but she loved him for trying. 

 

“Find Roy, and find out who this witness is who put Joe at the scene,” she said. “See if anybody else saw anything. Look around that alley and see if there’s anything there. See if Doc’s finished with the body and what he can tell us about the cause of death. By the time you do all that, Joe and I should be finished here.”

 

“We’ll see you in a little while, then,” said Hoss. He leaned down and kissed her. She watched the three men leave. Not until the door closed behind them did she allow herself a moment to sag under the weight of what she’d taken on. Then, she squared her shoulders and headed back into the cell to find out from Joe Cartwright what, if anything, he actually knew about Frank Grayson’s death.

 

**********

 

“Now, close your eyes and just let your mind drift,” Anna said. Joe started to roll his eyes, but quickly, he closed them. He appreciated all she was doing, but right now, she was like the worst possible combination of Pa, his brothers, the doctor, the sheriff and a truly annoying big sister. Everything he said was followed by half a dozen questions about every little thread of it. And when he said he remembered a sound just before his memory stopped, she leaned forward and placed her hands on the sling she’d insisted he put back on. “Picture it in your mind,” she said softly, almost as if her voice were the accompaniment to his thoughts. He didn’t snort, but he did exhale a little harder than usual. She didn’t seem to notice, though. She just kept talking in that soft voice. “Look around at the street,” she said. “Do you see anybody coming? Are you talking to any of them?”

 

Joe was ready to tell her that the whole thing was silly, but he found that the picture was becoming more vivid in his mind. The late afternoon sun was fading, and a stiff breeze was blowing the dust around. Mrs. Morrison and her boy were coming down the sidewalk toward him, and he tipped his hat and greeted them. He was just stepping down off the curb at the alley when he heard—when he heard—

 

“A voice,” he said, opening his eyes. “I heard a voice.”

 

“Whose voice?” Anna asked. “What was it saying?”

 

He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. 

 

“Was it a man or a woman? Or a child?”

 

“I don’t know,” he repeated.

 

“Close your eyes and listen again,” she said, and this time he did so willingly. “Start down the street again. See Mrs. Morrison and her son. Now, step off the curb—”

 

He squeezed his eyes shut fiercely, trying to concentrate. After a few minutes, he sat back. “I don’t know,” he said, defeated. He felt as if she were asking him to tell the end of a book he’d been reading, but somebody had torn out the rest of the pages. 

 

“It’s okay,” Anna said. “This is a start.”

 

“I don’t know what it does for us,” Joe said.

 

“Maybe nothing,” said Anna. “Or maybe Mrs. Morrison or her son heard something. Or somebody.” 

 

Joe considered this. He listened for a moment. No sign of the others yet. He decided to take the chance. “Anna—”

 

“What is it?” She was making notes as she spoke. When he said nothing, she looked up. “What is it, Joe?”

 

“What if—what if I remember something that’s—well, that’s not good?”

 

“You mean, what if you remember something that looks as if you’re guilty?” Joe nodded. Matter-of-factly, she said, “Then you tell me. Not your father, not your brothers. I’m the person you tell.”

 

“But—why not Pa or Adam or Hoss?”

 

“Because if what you remember isn’t good, they’ll try to convince you that you’re not remembering right, because they believe you can’t possibly have killed this man,” she said. “But to defend you, I need to know the truth, whatever it is, however much of it you know. I can work with practically anything, as long as I know what it is. What I can’t work with is your memories getting mixed up with what you’re being told by other people so that I can’t tell what’s real and what somebody’s trying to convince you is real. A lot of this case is going to hinge on what you know. That’s why I needed to talk to you alone. I need to know what you do remember and what you don’t remember, not what you’re being told.”

 

“But they know things I don’t, like that night when I hit Pa.” It was still difficult for Joe to say that out loud.

 

“And I’ll be talking to each of them about what they know,” Anna said. “But first and foremost is sorting out what you know. Whatever it is, we’ll work with it.”

 

Joe considered this. He knew it wasn’t fair to say that it didn’t seem to matter to her if he was guilty or not, but she almost sounded that way. Relief, strange and unexpected, washed over him. As much as he appreciated his family telling him he couldn’t possibly have killed this man, there was something oddly freeing about the idea that Anna was on his side either way. He didn’t want to believe that he’d done such a thing, but somehow, it was a comfort to know that if he had, she wasn’t going anywhere.

 

“Thanks,” he said softly.

 

Anna smiled and squeezed his hand. For a moment, she knew just a little of how Hoss felt. There was just something about Little Joe Cartwright. One minute, he could drive you so crazy you wanted to throttle him, and the next minute, you’d do absolutely anything, just to see him smile. Hoss had told her so many stories of Joe as a child that she felt almost as if she were the big sister who had watched this young man grow up.  

 

She remembered how tenderly Hoss had cared for Joe after that explosion in her office last year, when Joe had had such a bad concussion. If she hadn’t already been falling in love with Hoss before then anyway, watching him with Joe would probably have pushed her over that edge. She knew that Hoss would have been caring and attentive with anybody, but there was a special bond between those two. Even if she didn’t have fifty other reasons to spend herself defending Joe, she’d do it for Hoss. 

 

She came out of her reverie to see Joe smiling at her. She could feel herself blushing. Joe’s smile broadened into a grin, and he winked. “Don’t worry,” he said. “My big brother’ll be back soon. And as soon as this mess is all over, I expect you two to stop stalling and set a date.”

 

“We’ll talk about that later,” Anna said, gathering her notes and rising. “For now, I need to get back to the office to check a couple things. How’s your arm? Should I send Doc Martin by?”

 

“I’m fine,” said Joe, also standing. “I don’t even need the sling.”

 

“Wear it anyway,” said Anna. “At least then, your family will think I’m taking proper care of you.” At Joe’s sudden frown, she said, “Don’t worry. Everything’s fine. Now, while I’m gone, I want you to write down absolutely everything you remember about yesterday. Write it all down, and when I come back, you’ll sign it in front of me.”

 

“Didn’t you do already write everything down? Why should I do it?”

 

“Because writing it down may trigger some other memories,” said Anna. And if you go back into wherever it is that you go when you’re in these fugue states, at least I’ll have the document to put into evidence. She saw the flicker of fear in Joe’s eyes. He knew. Just as quickly, he tamped down the fear and gave her his best shot at the famous irresistible Joe Cartwright grin, the one that invited everybody to share the joke. He couldn’t keep it going, though, and as he faltered, it was all she could do to give him an encouraging smile of her own.

 

So, Anna kissed his cheek and called for Roy to let her out of the cell. In the moment before he came in, she turned back to her client. 

 

“Just remember,” she said softly. “I’m the person you tell.” As Roy unlocked the cell, Joe nodded, and he watched her leave.

 

**********

 

At lunchtime, they convened in Joe’s cell to compare notes. The witness who claimed to have seen Joe running down the street with blood all over himself was Lotta Harrison. Adam and Hoss had tried to talk to her, but she claimed to know nothing more than she had told the sheriff. Adelaide Morrison and her son, Robbie, were the pair that Joe had passed right before he got to the alley, but Adelaide told Ben that they knew nothing. 

 

“You know that I’d help you if I could, Mr. Cartwright,” Adelaide said, so coy that no one would ever have known she was married.

 

“I appreciate that, Mrs. Morrison,” said Ben, with only a breath of emphasis on “Mrs.”  “For some reason, Miss Harrison seems to be under the impression that you knew something more...” He trailed off, inviting her to fill in the blanks.

 

“I think it’s because it was all so confusing,” Adelaide smiled, pouring Ben another cup of coffee. “Everyone was talking at once, and Flora Gibson’s husband went down the street to see what was what, and that’s when he found the body and sent for the sheriff. I’m ever so sorry that your son is in such trouble, but I’m sure it’ll sort itself out in no time at all. If you don’t mind my asking—what did he say about what went on?”

 

“I really can’t say,” said Ben, draining his cup and rising. The coffee was so weak that Hop Sing could have used it for washing windows. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Morrison.” 

 

Anna sipped her tea as she listened to the accounts of the morning’s activities. “Has anyone talked to the doctor yet?” she asked.

 

“I did,” said Adam. “Pretty straightforward. Death was caused by the knife between the ribs. Got shoved in hard, all the way up to the hilt. Blade pierced the heart, pretty much cut it in half. Probably killed him in a matter of seconds.”

 

“Adam,” Ben remonstrated mildly. “Not while we’re eating, please.” An abrupt movement caught his eye, and he turned to see that Joe was suddenly pale and had set down his sandwich. “You all right, son?” he asked.

 

Joe nodded. “I’m fine,” he said unconvincingly. All at once, he wished that they’d all leave. He took a deep breath, and another, but it didn’t help. The room was starting to spin, and he felt like he was liable to pass out, right here in front of everybody. He started to sway, and he would have fallen except that his father, who was sitting next to him on the cot, caught his arm.

 

“Put your head down,” Ben said, pushing him so that his head was between his knees. “Breathe deep. Count four, in and out.” Joe closed his eyes and breathed, and after a few minutes, he sat up again. 

 

“You sure you’re all right?” asked Hoss, blue eyes dark with concern.

 

Joe nodded. “Just got a little lightheaded, nothing serious,” he said. He still wouldn’t have felt steady on his feet, but he was all right sitting here, not moving. 

 

His father noticed, though, and he didn’t like it. Joe wasn’t the type to get queasy about comments like Adam’s. “Well, Doc’s going to have my hide if you don’t get some rest soon,” Ben said. To the others, he said, “I think we should move this meeting down to Anna’s office and let Joe rest up a bit.”

 

“I’m fine,” Joe protested, but the others paid him no mind as they packed up their lunches. 

 

Ben followed them out to the door and returned to find Joe already lying down on the cot with a blanket pulled over himself. This was most unlike his son, and Ben was now suspicious. He laid a hand on his son’s forehead. No fever, but the boy was still far too pale. “All right, young man, what’s going on?” he asked.

 

“I’m fine,” said Joe. “Just a little dizzy. It’ll pass. It just takes a few minutes.”

 

“And you know this—how?” Joe remained silent. “Has this dizziness also been happening for the past several weeks?” Ben didn’t bother to keep the irritation out of his voice at this newest revelation.

 

“A little bit,” admitted Joe sheepishly. 

 

Ben raised his eyebrows. “Joseph, what else don’t I know?” he asked sternly.

 

Joe shook his head. “Nothing, Pa, I swear,” he said. “This is it. You know everything I do now. Probably more, even.”

 

“There’s nothing else?” Ben sounded skeptical. Joe supposed he couldn’t blame him for that. “Is your arm bothering you? Do we need to get Doc over here?”

 

“Really, Pa, I’m fine,” said Joe. He decided to be forthright. He owed his father that much. “I think—I’m just tired, and listening to Adam talk about how that fellow died—I started picturing what it was like and wondering if I was the one...” His voice trailed off. 

 

“Don’t think like that,” said Ben. He sat on the edge of the cot, his voice softening. “This whole mess is going to get sorted out, and then you’ll be home.”

 

“But Pa—what if—”

 

“Joseph, don’t even say it,” Ben cut him off gently. “It’s all going to be fine, I promise. Now, I want you get some rest. You didn’t get much sleep last night.”

 

“Neither did you,” Joe pointed out.

 

Ben smiled. “But I didn’t have quite the day you had yesterday, either,” he said. He patted Joe’s shoulder and rose. “You get some sleep, and I’ll see you later.” 

 

Joe watched his father leave, pulling the door of the cell closed behind him. It’s all going to be fine, I promise, Pa had said. How could he promise something like that? How could anyone?

 

Sleep. That was what he needed. But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was the image of how this man had died. Damn Adam and his vivid descriptions. And what if he really was the person who had shoved that knife hard between a stranger’s ribs and cut his heart in half? Joe squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fist against his mouth, trying to keep from screaming or vomiting—he felt in that moment as if he could do either. Slowly, the feeling faded, and Joe found himself thinking of the meeting in Anna’s office, and of Anna. 

 

Because all at once, all he wanted was the one person who would let him talk about his worst fear without telling him he wasn’t allowed to think that way. The only person who seemed to be able to handle the idea that he might be as bad as he feared he was.

 

*********

 

“Anna.” Adam had opened the office door so quietly that she hadn’t heard him. “May I speak with you?”

 

“Of course.” It had been a long, long day, and she still had hours of work ahead of her, but she gestured to the chair in front of her desk. “What can I do for you?”

 

“You’ve got to get Joe out on bail,” Adam said. 

 

Anna suppressed a sigh. She’d expected this conversation, but not quite yet. “Joe doesn’t want to get out,” she said. “I can’t argue for bail if my client wants to stay in jail.”

 

“Joe doesn’t know what he wants right now,” said Adam with heat in his voice.

 

“Actually, he does,” said Anna, matching his tone exactly. Then, she softened. “Adam, he feels safe there. I’m not taking that away from him. Not without his consent.”

 

“That’s ridiculous,” said Adam. “He’ll be safer with us at home—and a whole lot warmer, too. If he stays in that jail for however long it takes to get to trial, he’ll be dead of pneumonia before the jury comes in.”

 

“That may be true, but I’m bound by my client’s wishes,” said Anna. “But let me ask you this. Are you prepared to supervise him constantly to make sure that he doesn’t go off and do something else he doesn’t recall? Because that’s why he wants to stay where he is. It isn’t that he thinks somebody’s going to do something to him. Joe is afraid to find out what he’s capable of doing in this state.”

 

“That’s ridiculous,” said Adam again.

 

Anna shook her head. “You have no idea how much it shook him up to realize that he’d struck your father,” she said. “And now he’s accused of murdering some drifter. He’s scared to death to find out what else he might do without knowing it.”

 

“He has to get out of jail,” said Adam. “It’d be better for him, and better for Pa, too.”

 

“Adam, if you want to talk to him about it, be my guest,” said Anna. “If you can convince him that he’ll be safe at the Ponderosa, I’ll make a request for bail. But I won’t do it unless he tells me to. Joe is my client, Adam. Not you, or your father, or Hoss.” She stood to signify that the meeting was over, and Adam rose reflexively. “Are you going over there now?”

 

Adam shook his head. “I can’t believe you won’t do this for him,” he said. “You said your job was to protect him.”

 

“Adam, he is not a child,” said Anna. “He is a competent adult, and this is his choice. I will do anything he wants me to do, but I will not go against my client’s wishes.”

 

“Forgive me for taking up your time,” said Adam coldly. “Good night.” He was gone before she could reply.

 

***********

 

The circuit judge was due to pass through town on Friday. He was on the way to Carson City to start trial on Monday, but he detoured through Virginia City to handle the arraignment of Joseph Cartwright.

 

Judge Webster had a vague recollection of the Cartwright boy from a couple of years earlier, when the boy been shot by the employee of a local businessman. Nice-looking kid, well-spoken, seemed to be telling the truth, but the jury acquitted the businessman in less than two minutes. The judge had suspected juror misconduct in that case, but the prosecutor didn’t claim that the verdict had been reached on anything other than the evidence presented, and the judge wasn’t about to start questioning jurors without some complaint. He had too many other cases on his docket.

 

He hoped, for Joseph Cartwright’s sake, that the Virginia City juries were still in an acquitting mood. 

 

Promptly at 9:00 on Friday morning, the bailiff opened court, and the judge took his place on the bench. The Cartwright boy stood at the defense table. Anna Simmons was defending, and Harvey Roberts was prosecuting. Should be an interesting trial, the judge mused. He’d always enjoyed the sparring between Roberts and old Efraim Zelner, and he’d been mighty disappointed when Zelner died last winter, but Zelner’s niece had proven to be quite competent in the courtroom. Not as showy and dramatic as the old man, but very, very good. Her preparation was very thorough, a fact Judge Webster knew that Roberts didn’t really care for, since it meant stepping up his own efforts, but the judge appreciated it. 

 

“Good morning, everyone,” intoned the judge. “Be seated. People versus Joseph Cartwright. Miss Simmons, how does your client plead?”

 

“Not guilty, Your Honor.”

 

What a surprise, the judge thought. In nearly thirty years on the bench, he’d only had one murder defendant plead guilty. “The plea is accepted. Let’s see. Today is the eighteenth. I start trial in Carson City on Monday, should take about two weeks. Let’s put this one down to start Monday, November 4. Any objection?”

 

“No, Your Honor,” said the prosecutor.

 

“No objection to the date, Your Honor,” said Anna. “But before that’s carved in stone, the defense would like to move for dismissal of the charges on the grounds of lack of probable cause.”

 

The judge turned to the prosecutor. “You know about this?”

 

“Yes, Your Honor, Miss Simmons informed me yesterday,” said the prosecutor. Virginia City was too small a town for the type of cutthroat tactics found in the big cities. In a place like this, if you wanted courtesies to be extended, you had to be willing to do the same. 

 

“All right, then, proceed.” At least this was something different.

 

Anna rose. “Your Honor, the prosecution hasn’t a shred of actual evidence placing Mr. Cartwright at the scene. He has one witness who says that she saw Mr. Cartwright on the street with blood on him, but she can’t say whose blood it was.”

 

“Does she need to?” asked the judge.

 

“The state has to establish guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, and if this is all they have, I’d say she does, Your Honor,” said Anna.

 

“Mr. Roberts? Anything in response?”

 

“Your Honor, circumstantial evidence is just as valid a basis for conviction as direct evidence,” said the prosecutor. “I don’t need to have a witness who saw Joe Cartwright standing over the body with a knife in his hand. The jury can draw a proper inference from the fact that there was a man with a knife in his gullet at the same time there was another one running down the street with blood on him. That’s all I need at this point for probable cause, and I’d ask that the motion be denied.”

 

The judge considered this. “Miss Simmons, is your client planning to take the stand?”

 

“That hasn’t yet been decided, Your Honor,” she said. She heard the other Cartwrights shift behind her, and she knew that they were surprised, but she’d gone back and forth on the question late into the night, and she still hadn’t made up her mind. Under the constitution, Joe didn’t have to take the stand, and the jury couldn’t assume anything about his guilt if he didn’t. On the other hand, she’d learned that Virginia City juries had a tendency to decide for themselves what they were entitled to assume, and she knew that they expected to hear Joe’s side of the story from Joe. 

 

The problem, of course, was that Joe couldn’t tell them what happened. 

 

“Well, Miss Simmons, I’m going to suggest that maybe you want to make that decision now, because I’d kind of like to hear an explanation for that blood before I make a ruling about whether there’s probable cause or not,” said the judge.

 

“In that case, Your Honor, I request a brief recess to confer with my client,” said Anna.

 

“Granted. The court stands in recess. Ten minutes. If I need to hear any other witnesses to decide this motion, have them here when we reconvene.” The judge banged the gavel, and the bailiff told them all to rise.

 

Immediately, the Cartwrights hovered around Anna and Joe. “Looks as if it’s time,” Anna said to Joe. “How do you feel about it?”

 

“Is there any point?” asked Joe. He looked as though he’d lost weight even in the few days since his arrest. His eyes still had that sad, haunted look, but now there was something new and frightening as well:  resignation. The trial hadn’t even started, but Joe was giving up, and that wasn’t the Joe they knew.

 

Over Joe’s head, Anna met Hoss’ eyes. Silently, she asked the question, and silently he answered. She laid her hand on Joe’s and looked him in the eye. “Yes,” she said firmly. “It won’t be easy, but there’s a chance. A lot more of one than if you don’t take the stand.” She didn’t have to tell him that it was still a long shot—they were going to have to persuade a jury that Joe’s memory lapses were real, and they were going to have to figure out a way to sell the idea that Frank Grayson had died in some other way than being murdered by the man with all the blood on him. He already knew all that. 

 

Joe looked up at his father and brothers. “What do you think?” he asked.

 

“I think you should do it,” said Ben. Adam and Hoss nodded their assent.

 

“And you think I should do it,” Joe said to Anna.

 

“I do,” she confirmed. 

 

Joe drew a deep breath. “All right, then,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

 

Anna squeezed his hand. “Good,” she said. Turning to Adam, she said, “Would you go and see if you can get Doc Martin to come down? I want to lay some groundwork about the fugues—let the judge get used to the idea. It’ll help if he can hear it from a doctor, I think.” Adam nodded and left. Anna turned back to Joe. “Now, here’s what we’re going to do.”

 

Precisely ten minutes after the recess was called, Judge Webster was back on the bench. “Miss Simmons, call your first witness,” he intoned.

 

“The defense calls Doctor Paul Martin,” said Anna, giving silent thanks for the fact that the doctor had been in his office and unoccupied when Adam went for him. She proceeded to lead him through a discussion of the concept of memory lapses and the latest medical literature on this concept.

 

“Wait a minute,” interrupted the judge. “Are you telling me that a man can do things and then completely forget that he did them?”

 

“Yes,” said the doctor.

 

“You mean, the defendant could sit here through this whole proceeding and then later today, he might not know that it happened?”

 

“That’s exactly what I mean,” said the doctor.

 

“And there’s medical literature on this?”

 

“There is,” said the doctor. “Not much, to be sure. It’s mostly been studied in Europe, and pretty recently. Most of the articles aren’t available in this country yet, but the research is beginning back east.”

 

“Fascinating,” mused the judge. “Sorry, Miss Simmons, I interrupted you. Did you have more questions for your witness?”

 

“I think we’ve covered it all,” said Anna.

 

The judge turned to the prosecutor. “Mr. Roberts, your witness.”

 

“Dr. Martin. All this testimony about memory fugues, or whatever you call them—this is all very interesting, but let me ask you this:  if someone has one of these fugues or lapses, is there any way to know if it’s real?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, if a man’s bleeding, we can see the blood. But if he says he doesn’t remember—don’t we pretty much have to take his word for it?”

 

“Well, yes. There’s no medical test to see if someone remembers something, if that’s what you’re asking.”

 

“That’s exactly what I’m asking, Doctor,” said the prosecutor with a self-satisfied grin. “So is it fair to say that a person could pretend that he didn’t remember something, and there’s no scientific way to know if he’s lying?”

 

“Yes,” said the doctor reluctantly.

 

“And with respect to the defendant specifically—when was the first time you ever heard that he was supposedly experiencing these memory problems?”

 

“Tuesday night, the fifteenth. Out at the Ponderosa.”

 

“And why were you there?”

 

“Objection. Irrelevant,” said Anna.

 

“I’ll rephrase the question, Your Honor,” said Roberts. “Doctor, isn’t it true that when you went out to the Ponderosa Tuesday night, you had been called out to tend to a wound that the defendant had sustained?”

 

“Objection,” repeated Anna.

 

“Counselor, is this wound relevant?” asked the judge.

 

“Very much so, Your Honor,” said the prosecutor.

 

“Objection overruled. The witness will answer.”

 

The doctor threw Joe an apologetic look. “Yes,” he said.

 

“In your opinion as a physician, what instrumentality caused the wound?”

 

“It appeared to have been caused by a knife,” said the doctor heavily.

 

“A knife,” repeated the prosecutor, as if the judge might not have heard. “Frank Grayson was killed with a knife, wasn’t he?”

 

“Yes, he was,” said the doctor.

 

“And just to be clear—when was Frank Grayson killed?”

 

“On Tuesday, the fifteenth.”

 

“Before you went out to the Ponderosa?”

 

“I believe so.”

 

“I have nothing further for this witness, Your Honor,” said the prosecutor.

 

“Dr. Martin, you may step down.” The judge turned to Anna. “Miss Simmons, this memory thing is very interesting, but I’m not certain that I understand how it warrants dismissal of the charges. Enlighten me.”

 

“The prosecution has no evidence whatsoever that puts Mr. Cartwright in that alley,” said Anna. “There’s been no identification of anyone there other than the decedent. The obvious person to ask would be Mr. Cartwright. The problem is that, because of this condition, he has no memory of the time period in question. He cannot state where he was at the time the decedent was killed. In the absence of any witness who can place him at the scene, the prosecution is unable as a matter of law to meet its burden of proving guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.”

 

“Interesting. Mr. Roberts? Any response?”

 

“Yes, Your Honor. I have a witness who can place Mr. Cartwright on C Street, near the alley, at the time of the murder and who will testify that his jacket was covered in blood. I believe that this is more than sufficient to establish probable cause, and so the motion should be denied.”

 

“And I thought this was going to be quick,” said the judge. To the clerk he said, “Find out what time the last stage for Carson City leaves. Doesn’t look like I’ll make the noon stage.” To the lawyers, he said, “Let’s see if I have this. Miss Simmons, you say the prosecution doesn’t have a witness. Mr. Roberts, you say you do. Who’s your witness, Mr. Roberts?”

 

“Miss Lotta Harrison, Your Honor. She’ll testify that she saw Mr. Cartwright running down C Street, right near that alley, with blood all over his jacket.”

 

“Hmmm. That’s right, I knew there was something about blood. Well, Miss Simmons, it’s your motion. Do you have any other witnesses? Are we going to hear from Mr. Cartwright?”

 

Anna looked down at Joe. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she whispered. Joe looked anything but sure, but he nodded. “The defense calls Joseph Cartwright,” she said, pushing away the sudden feeling that this was a mistake.

 

Joe took the oath and sat down. He allowed himself the briefest moments to look past Anna to the three men in the front row. Hoss nodded encouragingly, Adam winked, and his father fixed him with that look that felt like a hug. He took a deep breath and met Anna’s gaze to let her know he was ready.

 

“Mr. Cartwright, would you please tell the court what you recall of your activities on Tuesday, October 15, prior to returning to your home?”

 

“I spent the morning off looking for strays with my brother, Adam. Then, I came into Virginia City to pick up the mail and do some banking for my father. Then, I walked along C Street.”

 

“And what happened next?”

 

“The next thing I knew, I was in the barn at home.”

 

“Do you recall anything at all in between walking on C Street and being at home?”

 

“Nothing. It was like I went from one second to the next.”

 

“Mr. Cartwright, have you ever heard of Frank Grayson?”

 

“Yes, ma’am. Roy Coffee said the name when he came out to the Ponderosa that night.”

 

“Did you ever meet Frank Grayson?”

 

“Not to my knowledge.”

 

“So, you had nothing against him?”

 

“No, ma’am.”

 

“Mr. Cartwright, these memory lapses that Dr. Martin testified about—how long have you been experiencing them?”

 

“A couple of months.”

 

“Did you experience a memory lapse on the afternoon of October 15?”

 

“I assume so. I mean, you can’t be here one second and at the Ponderosa the next. I have to have gotten out there somehow, and I don’t remember doing it—so yes, I must have had a memory lapse.”

 

“I have nothing further, Your Honor.” Anna allowed herself the faintest of smiles at Joe. So far, he’d done well. All he had to do now was to deal with Harvey Roberts, and they could breathe.

 

The prosecutor strode up to the witness stand. “Mr. Cartwright, do you still have the jacket that you were wearing when you were in town on Tuesday?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“You don’t know?”

 

“I haven’t seen it since then. I don’t know where it is now.”

 

“Why wouldn’t you have it with you? It’s been quite chilly this week.”

 

“I borrowed my brother’s coat.” Joe’s eyes slid over to Anna, who nodded. 

 

“So, you left your jacket at home, is that it?”

 

“The last time I saw it was at home.”

 

“All right, Mr. Cartwright, I’ll ask you straight out. Is the reason that you borrowed your brother’s coat because yours was covered in blood?”

 

“Yes.” Joe bit off the word. 

 

Hold your temper, Anna thought. Don’t let him make you mad. 

 

“Whose blood was it, Mr. Cartwright?” asked the prosecutor.

 

“Some of it was mine,” said Joe.

 

“What about the rest of it?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“How did it get on your jacket?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Is it Frank Grayson’s blood?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Did you kill Frank Grayson?”

 

“No!”

 

“Suddenly, you’re quite certain, aren’t you?” demanded the prosecutor. “Haven’t you had memory lapses? How do you know that you didn’t do it?”

 

“Objection! Which question does counsel want an answer to?” Anna tried to catch Joe’s eye, but his attention was fixed on the prosecutor.

 

“Sustained. Mr. Roberts, pick a question.” 

 

“Mr. Cartwright, considering that you’ve had some problems with your memory, and you claim to have had a memory lapse on the day Frank Grayson was murdered, how can you be certain that you didn’t kill Frank Grayson during one of those lapses?”

 

“Because I know,” said Joe. He glared at the prosecutor. Anna tried to get his attention again. She knew where this was going.

 

“How do you know?” the prosecutor persisted.

 

“Objection. Asked and answered,” Anna said.

 

“Overruled. The witness will answer.”

 

The prosecutor smirked. “How do you know you didn’t stab Frank Grayson?”

 

“Because I would never do something like that,” snapped Joe. It took every ounce of Anna’s strength at that moment to keep emotion from registering on her face. The trap had been sprung.

 

And the prosecutor knew it. His smirk widened into a grin. “Are you sure about what you would or wouldn’t do, Mr. Cartwright?”

 

“Yes.” Only his father and brothers could have seen the slight wobble in his defiance.

 

“Mr. Cartwright—would you ever think yourself capable of striking your father?”

 

“Objection!” Anna was on her feet. “Mr. Cartwright’s relationship with his father is not at issue in this proceeding, and his opinion on this issue is irrelevant.”

 

“Objection overruled. The witness has already testified that there are things he would never do. The court is entitled to know what they are.” The judge looked at Joe. “Answer the question, Mr. Cartwright.”

 

Joe was silent for a long moment. Finally, he looked to Anna, who nodded. “What was the question?” he asked.

 

“Would you ever think yourself capable of striking your father?”

 

“No,” Joe said. The defiance of a moment earlier was gone. 

 

The prosecutor strolled back to counsel table, letting the answer hang in the air. He straightened the papers on the table, and then looked up as if just now remembering that Joe was still on the stand. With all eyes on him, he smiled. “Mr. Cartwright, have you ever struck your father?”

 

In a voice barely audible, Joe said, “Yes.”

 

“Nothing further, Your Honor.”

 

*********

 

Ben closed the door separating the office from the cells. “He doesn’t want to see anyone right now,” he said.

 

“Well, you can hardly blame him for that,” said Adam. He was perched on the corner of Roy’s desk, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“I don’t understand what happened,” said Hoss. “How did that hearing get to be about him hittin’ Pa?”

 

“That’s cross-examination for you,” said Anna. “You never know which stick of dynamite’s going to blow up.” She sounded far too matter-of-fact for Ben’s taste, and he bit back a sharp retort.

 

“But how did Roberts even know about that?” he asked instead.

 

Anna shook her head. “I have no idea,” she said. “Somebody overheard somebody talking, maybe. I can’t imagine Paul Martin would have said anything to him. I don’t know who else knew.”

 

“Whole town’s gonna know now,” growled Hoss.

 

“I expect that’s what’s got the kid more upset than anything,” said Adam.

 

“At least this was only the motion hearing,” said Anna. “The jury hasn’t heard any of this.”

 

“But won’t Roberts do the same thing again at the trial?” asked Ben.

 

“Depends on whether Joe takes the stand,” Anna said. “After today, he might change his mind.”

 

“But if he doesn’t take the stand, how can we win?” asked Hoss.

 

“We’ve got two weeks to figure that out,” said Anna. “But I think we need to be prepared for that possibility.” She rose. “By the way, where’s the jacket?”

 

“I dunno,” said Hoss. “Hop Sing prob’ly burned it by now. Ain’t no way to get that much blood out. Danged thing was covered with it. Looked like he’d been butchering a beef or something.”

 

“If it’s not burned, can you have somebody bring it in?” asked Anna. “And if it hasn’t been washed, tell them not to wash it, either. I want it just as it is.”

 

“Why would you want the jacket?” asked Adam.

 

“I just like to have all my evidence in one place,” said Anna. “You never know what’s going to turn out to be useful.”

 

“Fine,” said Ben. “I’ll send a message out to the ranch today.” He shook his head. “I should probably get him a new jacket anyway. He can’t keep wearing Adam’s coat forever.” When his comment was met with silence, Ben glared at his sons and Anna. “I’ll see you all later,” he snapped. The door to the street slammed shut behind him.

 

“I should be getting back to the office,” said Anna. “You boys feel like taking a walk?”

 

“Any place in particular, or just from here to your office?” asked Adam.

 

“From here to the office—with maybe a little detour past that alley,” said Anna.

 

“Why? We seen it already. There ain’t nothing there,” said Hoss.

 

“I know,” said Anna. “I want to see it anyway.”

 

The brothers shrugged. “Might as well,” said Adam. “Maybe Joe’ll miss us enough while we’re gone to talk to us when we get back.”

 

“I wouldn’t count on it,” said Hoss, offering Anna his arm and wrinkling his nose at Adam’s smirk.

 

The alley was unremarkable. Like alleys all over town, it was dusty, containing a couple of barrels, some broken crates, and bits of trash that had blown in. Anna stood in the middle as Hoss and Adam watched. It was almost as if she was waiting for something. 

 

“Do you know where the body was?” she asked finally.

 

“Roy said it was over there,” said Adam, pointing toward the back wall. Anna bent down, looking carefully. There was a smear of what was clearly dried blood on the wooden wall. Carefully, she placed her hand over it. It was difficult to know for certain, but it appeared to be part of a handprint, and the hand was not too much larger than her own. “Adam, come here for a moment,” she called, not turning. As he stood beside her, she took his left hand and held it over the spot. “Too big,” she murmured. Someone whose left hand was larger than hers and smaller than Adam’s had gotten blood on that hand and placed it against the wall.

 

“How big is Joe’s hand?” asked Anna.

 

“Smaller than mine,” Adam said grimly.

 

“And larger than mine?”

 

Adam nodded. Hoss said nothing.

 

“Of course, this doesn’t prove anything,” said Anna. “It’s only part of a handprint. There’s no saying how big the hand really was. All we get out of this is that it couldn’t have been smaller.” Even she could hear the desperate cheeriness in her voice. 

 

As she turned back toward the Cartwrights, something caught her eye on another wall. She knelt. Down near the bottom, there was more blood. Lightly, she ran her fingers over the spot. She looked up questioningly at Hoss and Adam, both of whom squatted down beside her.

 

“No idea,” said Hoss finally. “Looks like blood, but that’s all I can tell.”

 

“The question is, why is it all the way over here?” said Adam. “Did Grayson roll around or something after he was stabbed?”

 

“There’s no way to know,” said Anna, rising. “Could have been anything. We don’t even know if it happened at the same time. It could have been here before. When was the last time it rained?”

 

“Couple of weeks,” said Hoss. “But I ain’t heard about nobody else I’ stabbed since then.”

 

“It didn’t have to be a stabbing,” said Adam. “People can bleed from lots of other causes. You wouldn’t have heard if there were a fight. This could be nothing but somebody getting beaten up.” He stood, stretching. “Come on, Younger Brother, let’s go.”

 

“What’ve you got in mind?” asked Hoss.

 

“Escort the lady back to her office, and see if we can figure something else out,” said Adam. “And maybe see if Joe feels like company yet.”

 

“If you two want to go back to the jail, that’s fine,” said Anna. “I’m going to walk a little more.”

 

“Somethin’ wrong?” asked Hoss. Walking was one of Anna’s ways of calming down when she was upset.

 

She shrugged. “Something’s not right, that’s for certain,” she said. “There’s something we’re missing. I can feel it. I just don’t know what it is.”

 

“You wanna tell me the case?” It was a routine they’d developed over the months:  sometimes, when Anna felt she was too close to a case and couldn’t see it properly, she’d lay it all out to Hoss. Not only was he a patient listener, but he had a knack for asking questions that helped her to see where the holes were. 

 

“I don’t know,” she said. “Can you listen to this one?” This wasn’t just a case; it was his brother’s life, and neither of them was losing sight of that. The easy objectivity and occasional dark humor that they enjoyed with other cases was absent this time.

 

“If it’ll help Little Joe, I can listen,” said Hoss resolutely. He’d listen just like it was any other case. He could do whatever it took.

 

“I’ll listen, too, if you want,” offered Adam.

 

“All right,” said Anna. Walking between Hoss and Adam, she began to lay out her theories as the three of them left the blood-stained alley. 

 

***********

 

The next two weeks were at once fleeting and interminable. Tempers grew shorter and nerves more taut as trial strategies were debated and abandoned, investigations proved fruitless, and witnesses shook their heads in regret. By the second week, nearly every meeting ended with arguing and shouting and at least one angry Cartwright storming out of Joe’s cell. More than once, that Cartwright was Hoss.

 

And still, Joe couldn’t recall anything more about what happened in that alley. 

 

He tried, he truly did. But the harder he tried, the more frustrated he became, and the harder it was to keep from lashing out at everyone who kept encouraging him to just think, just relax, and it would all come back to him. They didn’t understand what these fugues were like. It was as if the missing time had never existed. It wasn’t a matter of recalling something that he’d once known and then forgotten—it was like trying to remember something he had never known in the first place. They might just as well have been asking him to remember how to play the violin or read Greek.

 

The strain was showing. Already slim, he was losing weight at such a rate that his father insisted he allow Doc Martin to check him over to make sure that nothing else was wrong. He was constantly exhausted, but when he lay down to sleep, he was as wide awake as if he’d just drunk a pot of coffee. The memory lapses and dizzy spells were coming more frequently, as if his mind was bound and determined not to be there for the trial so that he wouldn’t have to know the truth. On the Wednesday before trial was to begin, he came back to himself to find that he was lying on the cot in his cell, with his father sitting beside him. Pa said he’d passed out when they were talking about Lotta Harrison’s possible testimony. Joe recalled neither the conversation nor the dizziness that would have preceded passing out. 

 

“We’re losing him, Hoss,” said Adam in a low voice as they watched their father hover over Joe. He sounded so controlled that only someone who knew him as well as his brother did would have heard the note of near panic. “If this doesn’t end soon, we’re going to lose him, no matter what the jury does.”

 

“I know,” said Hoss grimly. Their little brother was escaping into some far corner of his mind, and it was getting harder and harder to keep him in their grasp. He glanced over at Anna, who stood apart, watching her client. He made no effort to go to her, nor she to him. By focusing on Joe, they were avoiding having to look at what was happening between them.

 

For the first time in his life, Joe Cartwright was truly terrified. Not of hanging, although the thought was undeniably frightening. No, he was afraid that his family would have to hear twelve men pronounce him guilty of murder. He was afraid of what that verdict would do to them.

 

He was afraid it could be true.

 

He would never have thought himself capable of murder before. But now, he felt as if he didn’t know what dark impulses might be lurking inside him. After all, he’d struck his own father. Who knew what else he was capable of? The idea that he could not recall what he’d done raised the specter that those impulses had been unleashed and were wreaking havoc in ways he would have sworn were impossible. As much as Pa and his brothers tried to reassure him that of course he could never have done such a thing, Joe was unconvinced. He had seen too much on the day of the attack. He knew what he would have done then if he’d been free to act, if there had been no one holding his arms and pressing a knife blade to his throat. And he was terrified that months later, in that alley, with no one holding him back, he had finally acted, and his family would forever suffer for it.

 

***********

 

It was Saturday. Trial would start on Monday morning. Anna and Joe sat in the cell, reviewing his written account what he recalled. For once, it was just the two of them.

 

“Anna.” His voice was flat, like the gray midday light in the cell. 

 

“Yes, Joe?” Her voice was slightly impatient. They needed to get through his testimony. 

 

This might be his last chance to ask without his family present. He forced the question out. “If I did do this—does it matter that I didn’t mean to?”

 

Something in his voice got her attention, and she set his papers down. “What do you mean? Is there some reason to think you did this?”

 

“I’m not—I don’t remember anything else. That’s not what I mean. It’s just—do they hang you if you kill somebody, but you didn’t mean to?”

 

“You mean, if it was an accident?”

 

“Well…I don’t know if you can say it was an accident if I didn’t know it was happening. Can you?”

 

Anna searched his face. He looked haggard, as if he’d been ill for a long time. The pain in his eyes, usually well-hidden, was evident. The gash on his arm was healing, but he’d developed a habit of rubbing it, and she didn’t know if he was trying to rub the ache out or to bring it back to keep himself grounded in the present. 

 

She’d been considering this for several days. She hadn’t said anything to anyone. She knew that Joe’s father and brothers would be irate if they knew what she was thinking. But here he was, asking, and she had no right to keep the information from him, if she ever had.

 

“Intent does matter,” she said. “And yes, it is possible that, even if the jury finds that you killed Grayson, they could still not hang you.”

 

Joe leaned forward. “Tell me.”

 

***********

 

“You told him what?”

 

Hoss’ shout could probably be heard on the next block. Anna rubbed her forehead. “Will you sit down and stop yelling!” she snapped. She wasn’t surprised at his reaction:  she’d known he wouldn’t take this well. She had just hoped that she would be able to tell him herself, instead of his hearing it from Joe.

 

Hoss plunked himself down in the chair in front of her desk. “All right, now tell me jest exactly what you told Little Joe,” he said. 

 

“I told him that this defense exists, and that if it works, even if the jury finds that he killed Grayson, it could also find that he didn’t know what he was doing, in which case, he wouldn’t hang,” she said in her best professional, objective voice.

 

“You said he was insane!” Hoss was on his feet, pacing back and forth in front of her desk. 

 

“I did not say he was insane! I said that, if we need to, we could use an insanity defense!” Anna was on her feet as well. “The point is, after all, to keep your brother alive, is it not? If we can’t establish reasonable doubt about whether he killed Grayson, this may be only way to accomplish that.”

 

Hoss stared in horror. “You think he did it,” he breathed.

 

Anna swallowed hard. “He can’t tell me that he didn’t,” she said. “All I have is circumstantial evidence that puts him at the scene, and he can’t tell me what happened. Without even his denial, I can’t ask a jury to believe that somebody else killed Frank Grayson. They’ll never do it.”

 

“So, you’re givin’ up on him.” Hoss shook his head slowly, as if the woman he loved had suddenly become a stranger.

 

“No,” said Anna. “I’m doing everything I can to keep him off the gallows. But unless you can bring me somebody who can put a third person in that alley, the best I’m going to be able to do for him is a plea of insanity.” She met his eyes defiantly even as she waited for his explosion.

 

“Insanity! You think Little Joe’s crazy!” Hoss paced around the office. He was so appalled that words were failing him. “He ain’t crazy! That’s my little brother, and he ain’t crazy!”

 

“I’m not saying he’s crazy; I’m saying that if the jury finds that he didn’t know what he was doing, he won’t hang.”

 

“I can’t believe you’re sayin’ this! My little brother ain’t no murderer, and he ain’t crazy!”

 

“Hoss, calm down.” Anna tried to catch his arm, but he was moving too fast. It was like trying to halt a locomotive. “Hoss, stop!” she said more loudly. “Stop and listen to me! Right now, with what I have, that’s our best chance. It’s that or the noose—which one do you prefer?”

 

“My little brother’s innocent,” said Hoss, pinning her with a fierce stare. “And he ain’t crazy. And you, of all people, should know better than to say anything different.”

 

“Hoss, all insanity means here is that he didn’t know what he was doing,” said Anna. “You can’t be convicted of murder if you didn’t mean to kill. If he didn’t know what he was doing, they can find that he was temporarily insane, and he won’t hang.”

 

“He ain’t insane, and don’t you say he is!”

 

“Then you’d better bring me a killer, because that jury is going to convict somebody for this murder, and if we don’t give them somebody else, it’s going to be Joe.” She sat down at her desk and began to thumb through the thick book she’d pulled from the shelf. She didn’t look up as the door slammed behind Hoss, rattling the glass on her lamp. Once he was gone, she slowly closed the book, and then she closed her eyes.

 

***********

 

“I can’t believe she said that,” said Ben. The four men were congregated in Joe’s cell. “Hoss, you must have misunderstood.”

 

“No, sir, I wish I did,” Hoss said. “She said it, clear as day. She’s gonna tell the jury Joe’s insane.”

 

“Hoss, are you sure that doesn’t have some special meaning in the law?” asked Adam. 

 

“What does it mean to you?” Hoss challenged him.

 

“I’m not a lawyer,” said Adam reasonably.

 

“Now you sound like her,” said Hoss. He sat down on the cot next to Joe and put his arm around his brother. “Don’t worry, Little Brother. We’ll figure out something else.”

 

“Hoss.” Something in Joe’s voice made them all look at him. “She’s already talked to me about this. I understand what it means.”

 

“And what does it mean?” asked Ben.

 

“It means that we say if I did it, I didn’t know what I was doing,” said Joe. He sounded very tired. “And if the jury accepts that, I don’t hang, but I might have to go away for a while.”

 

“What do you mean, ‘go away’?” asked Ben. He pulled up the stool and sat in front of his son, Adam at his shoulder. 

 

Joe swallowed hard. “Like to an institution or something,” he said. “At least for a little while, until my memory’s fixed. We’d get Doc to try to say I’m not dangerous or anything, but I guess juries don’t like it when you just walk away without any punishment at all, so they usually do something.” 

 

“But you didn’t do it!” protested Hoss. “I don’t care what she says, you didn’t do it!”

 

Joe closed his eyes for a minute. When he opened them, he looked as sad as they’d ever seen. “If there’s no way to prove that, it doesn’t really matter,” he said. “I don’t like the idea, but right now, it beats hanging.”

 

“I’m sure there’s another way, Joe,” said Ben, hiding most of the desperation in his voice. 

 

“Well, if there is, nobody seems to know what it is,” said Joe. “It’s ain’t like this is something I want to do, Pa. I don’t really care for the notion of walking around town the rest of my life with people pointing and saying, ‘There’s Joe Cartwright, he’s insane,’ but I suppose it’s better than having them point and say, ‘There’s the grave of that murderer, Joe Cartwright.’” He looked from one man to another. “I ain’t saying it’s what I want to do. It’s just—there may not be any choice.”

 

“I hate to say this, but maybe we should think about a different lawyer,” said Ben. “Anna seems to be out of ideas.” He wasn’t certain what was more troubling at this moment, Hoss’ anger at Anna or Joe’s lack of anger about the whole situation. Joe was usually the son he had to rein in, but ever since this nightmare had begun, there hadn’t once been a need for that. Ben refused to believe that his son had given up, but it was getting harder to convince himself of that.

 

“Pa, the lawyer isn’t going to make a difference, not at this point,” said Joe. “We’ve gotta play the hand that’s been dealt.”

 

“No! We ain’t givin’ up!” Hoss hugged his brother fiercely. “There’s gotta be something…”

 

“Roy!” Anna’s voice sounded urgently from the front office.

 

“I’m going to talk to her,” said Ben, barely containing his sudden anger. He stormed into the front office just as Roy came out of the side room.

 

“Don’t you people ever stop?” asked Roy.

 

“Not when you want to hang an innocent man, I don’t,” said Anna. “I need to see the jacket and the knife, right now.”

 

“You are the most cantankerous woman, Anna Simmons! I don’t know how Hoss puts up with you!” Roy grumbled as he fumbled with the key to his drawer.

 

“Neither does he, I’m sure,” said Anna. Roy drew the items from the drawer, and she snatched them from his hands. She spread the jacket on the desk and laid the knife next to it.

 

“What are you…” Roy began.

 

“Ssssssh!” Anna was staring at the jacket, as intent as if it bore the secrets of the universe. Not quite touching it, her hands traced the edges of the bloodstains. “Oh, God,” she whispered.

 

“Anna, I need…“ Ben began.

 

“Sssssh!” Without looking away from the jacket, she held up her hand as if to keep him back.

 

“What on earth…” Adam asked, coming into the room.

 

“For the love of God, would you people just shut up for a minute!” She was bent over the desk, her nose nearly touching the jacket. When she straightened, her eyes were filled with tears.

 

“Listen, you don’t talk to my…” Hoss began.

 

“SHUT UP!” Tears were rolling down her cheeks. 

 

Joe came to stand in the doorway. He mouthed to Hoss, “Is she okay?” 

 

Hoss shrugged, shaking his head. As angry as he was, all he wanted to do was to hold her, but right now, he didn’t know what she’d do if he tried. 

 

“It was right in front of us all the time,” she whispered finally.

 

“What was?” Suddenly, Joe couldn’t quite catch his breath. “What is it?” Is she seeing evidence of innocence, or of guilt? He reached behind to steady himself against the wall. 

 

“Somebody bring Doc Martin here,” she said finally. 

 

“Are you all right, dear?” Ben asked gently.

 

“Just get him, please,” she said. Ben nodded to Adam, who slipped out.

 

She hadn’t taken her eyes off the jacket. Now, she picked up the knife and examined it. She held her index finger against the blade as if to measure its width. She scrutinized the hilt, and she balanced it in her hand as if assessing the heft. Finally she laid it back on the desk. 

 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, what have I done?” she whispered. No one responded. 

 

In the silence, Hoss approached her. He laid a tentative hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t move away, he drew her into his arms, and she clung to him for a minute. Then, as if realizing what they were doing, they released each other abruptly.

 

The door burst open, and Adam came in with Doc Martin, bag in hand. “What’s the matter? What happened?” demanded the doctor. He looked around the room. When he saw Joe standing in front of him, he stopped, perplexed. “I was told it was urgent. What’s going on?”

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said. “But this can’t wait. I need to know. How big was Frank Grayson?”

 

“Is there some reason we can’t do this in the morning?” asked the doctor.

 

“Because that man’s life hangs in the balance,” said Anna, pointing to Joe. “If you need a better reason than that, you’ll have to give me a few minutes.”

 

Paul Martin sighed. Histrionics did not impress him. “He was about Adam’s size,” he said. “Maybe a little shorter. Not as short as Joe.”

 

“Show me on Adam where the knife entered,” she said. 

 

“Right about here,” Doc said, indicating a spot just to the left of the bottom of the sternum.

 

“Were there any other cuts on his body?”

 

“No.”

 

Anna picked up the jacket. “Joe, put this on,” she said, holding it out to him.

 

“He ain’t supposed to be out of that cell!” objected Roy.

 

“If he tries to make a run for it, I’m sure you’ll be able to handle him,” said Anna without turning around.

 

“Anna,” Ben remonstrated mildly. 

 

Joe put the jacket on. It was stiff with blood. Just wearing it made him feel lightheaded, and he started to sway, but Ben caught him.

 

“Are you all right, son?” Ben asked. Joe nodded, but the color had drained from his face. “Maybe you should sit down,” his father suggested.

 

“In a minute, okay? I just need to see something,” said Anna. “Adam, go stand next to Joe.” Adam stood next to Joe. “Doc, show me again where the knife entered.” The doctor indicated the spot on Adam’s torso. Anna looked from Joe in the blood-stained jacket to Adam to the doctor’s hand, and tears filled her eyes again. She looked at the doctor, and she saw the comprehension in his face. “I’m right, aren’t I?” she asked quietly.

 

“I believe you are,” he said. He sounded suddenly exhausted. The others stared, puzzled. 

 

“I don’t understand,” said Ben finally.

 

“There was a third person in that alley,” Anna said. “And that person was bleeding, too.”

 

Stunned silence met her statement. For a minute, they stared. Then, without warning, Joe crumpled to the floor. 

 

“Joseph!” Ben knelt beside him. “Get this thing off him,” he snapped, tugging at the jacket.

 

“Don’t tear it!” Anna barked. Confusion ensued, everyone talking at once as Hoss scooped up his brother and carried him to the cot in the cell, and the others followed. The big man yanked the jacket off Joe and threw it at Anna without so much as a glance in her direction. 

 

“All right, everybody step back,” said the doctor. He propped Joe’s feet up Ben’s lap and slapped Joe’s face. “Joe! Joe! Wake up!” he said loudly, right in the boy’s face. When that brought no reaction, he rummaged in his bag and pulled out smelling salts that he waved under the young man’s nose.

 

After a minute, Joe’s eyes opened. “What happened?” he murmured.

 

“You passed out,” said the doctor. “Just for a minute. Nothing to worry about. Somebody hand me those blankets, will you?” He tucked the blankets around his patient. “Roy, you got any water around here?”

 

“Sure,” said the sheriff. He resisted the urge to grumble as he went to pump the water. Between the doctor and the lawyer and the Cartwrights, he hadn’t done so much stepping and fetching in all his born days. 

 

He handed the cup to the doctor, who handed it to Joe. “Drink slowly,” the doctor said. Joe drank, and then he lay back, exhausted. 

 

“Where’s Anna?” he asked. 

 

“She’s…” Hoss turned, looking around.

 

“I’m right here,” Anna said, stepping forward. “Are you okay?” she added as the doctor rose and she took his place on the edge of the cot.

 

“I’m fine,” said Joe. “Just a little—I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, I’m fine.” 

 

“You are, aren’t you?” she smiled, and there was something in her smile that got his attention.

 

“What was all that about?” Joe asked. “You said something about a third person?”

 

Anna nodded. “If you saw where Doc said the knife went in—even if that wound bled a lot, it wouldn’t have gotten all over you like that. That jacket has blood all the way up by the shoulders. Your arm was cut, and his chest. Doc, correct me if I’m wrong, but from what I can tell, there’s no way that those two cuts, even together, got that much blood on your jacket. The only way that could have happened is if there was somebody else there and they were bleeding on you, too.” She looked up at the doctor. “Am I right?”

 

“You’re right,” said the doctor. “I never saw the jacket.”

 

“And I never saw the body,” said Anna. “But we did see a place in the alley where it looked like there was blood on the wall that was a little ways away from where the body was, down near the ground. So, it was consistent with somebody lying there bleeding.”

 

“But who?” asked Ben. “How do we find this person?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Anna. “You said Mrs. Morrison said there was nobody in the alley when she went past. If we assume she’s telling the truth, the only answer is that the person went in the alley after that, which means everything happened very quickly.”

 

“Are you saying there was a third person, and that person killed Grayson?” asked Hoss.

 

“I don’t know what that person did, other than bleed,” said Anna. “The one thing I know they didn’t do was to die in that alley, because there was only one body when Roy went in there to get Grayson.” Roy nodded his confirmation, and Anna took Joe’s hand in both of hers. “I am so, so sorry,” she said. “I don’t know how I missed this.” 

 

“You didn’t miss it,” said Joe. “The trial doesn’t start until Monday. You’ve got all day tomorrow to find this person,” he added with a faintly insouciant grin. 

 

“That’s a relief,” Anna said, matching his tone. “I was afraid I was going to have to rush.” She smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “Now, you get yourself some rest. We’ve still got to finish getting you ready for Monday, as well as finding the mysterious bleeding stranger.” She kissed his brow and rose, turning to the rest of the group. She was clearly drained. “Gentlemen, I thank you for your help,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go home. Good night, everyone.”

 

“Wait a minute,” said Hoss. “I’ll see you home.” His anger from the afternoon and his protectiveness of the evening had melded into something he couldn’t quite identify now. He wasn’t certain how he felt, or if he even wanted to be with her right now, but he knew how to do the proper thing.

 

“That’s not necessary, thank you,” said Anna. She wasn’t ready to talk to him yet. “I know how to get home from here.”

 

“I said I’ll walk you home,” said Hoss. His temper was starting to flare again.

 

“And I said I don’t need you to,” said Anna stubbornly.

 

“If you ain’t the orneriest woman—” Hoss began.

 

“Hoss.” His father’s voice was firm. More gently, Ben said, “Anna—thank you.” He eased himself out from under Joe’s feet and approached her. Offering her his arm, he asked, “May I accompany you home, Miss Simmons?”

 

“I’m not going to be allowed to go home by myself, am I?” she asked, chuckling ruefully. 

 

“No, my dear, you’re not,” said Ben, smiling. He wasn’t certain what was going on between his middle son and his lady friend, but tonight wasn’t the time to get into it. They were all worn out, and the problems were far from over.

 

Anna took his arm. “In that case, Mr. Cartwright, I’d be delighted if you’d accompany me to my home,” she said, smiling an exhausted smile.

 

Hoss watched as Anna and his pa walked out the door. He didn’t know why, but it felt like they’d just said goodbye. For a minute, he just looked at the closed door, feeling sadder than sad. Then, he became aware of voices behind him, and he turned back. 

 

“Hey, Little Brother, you up for checkers?” he asked with forced jollity. Without waiting for an answer, he went out to the office to get Roy’s checkerboard and game pieces. He might not be able to figure out how many people were bleeding in an alley, but he could take care of Little Joe, and that was all that mattered anyway.

 

***********

 

On Monday morning, the bailiff escorted the defendant in People v. Joseph Cartwright into the courtroom. The young bailiff had only taken the job to earn some quick money before leaving for Sacramento, but this case had been so interesting that he thought he might stick around a while. He did feel sorry for the defendant, though. This Cartwright fellow seemed to be having some problems, above and beyond having killed some drifter. Well, nothing a noose won’t solve, he thought, chuckling at his own wit.

 

The judge came on the bench, the bailiff opened court, and trial began. The courtroom was packed. Directly behind the defense table, separated from Joe and Anna by a wooden rail, sat the Cartwrights. 

 

Seating had presented yet another problem. On Sunday evening, Ben mentioned that he wanted to sit at the defense table, next to his son. Anna told him that he couldn’t, because only parties and lawyers were allowed to sit in front of the rail. Ben would have let it go, but Hoss wouldn’t hear of it. The next thing Ben knew, Anna and Hoss were at each other’s throats, with Hoss insisting that the rule was dumb and Joe needed Pa there, and Anna insisting that Ben simply couldn’t and that was all there was to it, and Ben trying to restore a peace that seemed to be long gone. The argument escalated in volume and intensity until Adam pushed past them and went to sit next to Joe, whose body was sitting on the cot but whose mind had clearly gone somewhere else. 

 

“Would you two just shut up!” he hissed, resting his arm around Joe’s shoulders. They all fell silent, watching Joe, who didn’t seem to notice Adam’s presence. 

 

“I’m sorry,” said Anna. “I’m going back to my office. I still need to finish going over his testimony with him, so if one of you will let me know when we can do that...” Her voice trailed off, and she left without saying good-bye. As the door to the sheriff’s office slammed behind her, Ben glared at Hoss.

 

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you’d better get over it fast,” he said. “She needs to be focusing on Joe. Whatever problems the two of you have are simply going to have to wait until after the trial, do you understand me?”

 

“Yes, sir,” mumbled Hoss. He watched Adam, who was quietly talking to Joe as if Joe were listening. Time was when it would have been Hoss next to his little brother. “I’m sorry, Joe,” he said. He just felt so mixed up. . . .

 

Anna had warned them of what the prosecutor’s opening argument would probably sound like, and she was right on the mark. Virtually every accusation and innuendo that she’d predicted echoed through the courtroom. Later, when Hoss complained about Roberts’ argument, Anna said, “He was just doing his job,” without even looking up from her papers, and Hoss shook his head in disgust and walked away.

 

Anna’s opening argument was so impassioned that no one would have believed she’d ever entertained a moment’s question about Joe’s innocence. The Cartwrights watched the jury for a sign that they believed her, but they remained as impassive as they had during the prosecutor’s opening. The judge had instructed them that they were not to make up their minds until the end of the case, and they appeared to be taking him seriously.

 

Roberts called Roy Coffee to talk about how he found Grayson’s body and Doc Martin to talk about the cause of death. The knife that Doc pulled out of Grayson’s ribs was Exhibit A. Once these facts were established, he called Lotta Harrison, who described in detail how Joe had run past her, his green jacket completely covered in blood. The jacket was Exhibit B. Roberts called Arnie Gibson to talk about how Miss Harrison had run into the mercantile, screaming, and how he’d gone to have a look around. On cross-examination, Anna got him to admit that he never saw Joe Cartwright that day and that it was getting dark when Lotta Harrison came in. 

 

Then, the prosecutor called Adelaide Morrison. Mrs. Morrison testified that she and her son had been walking from the dressmaker to the mercantile and that, while they were at the mercantile, Lotta Harrison came in.

 

“Objection, cumulative,” said Anna. “This is the third witness to testify that Miss Harrison came into the mercantile. The defense will stipulate that Lotta Harrison walked into Gibson’s Mercantile on the afternoon of October 15.”

 

“Objection sustained. Move on, counselor,” said the judge.

 

“Will the defense also stipulate that Miss Harrison saw the defendant running up C Street, covered in blood, just before she entered the mercantile?” asked the prosecutor.

 

“The defense stipulate that Miss Harrison has said that that’s what she saw,” said Anna. “Whether she did, in fact, see any such thing is a question for the jury when it decides whether she’s to be believed.” The judge gave her an odd look, as if he were uncertain whether to reprimand her, but he said simply, “Please continue, Mr. Roberts.”

 

“Mrs. Morrison, did you know Frank Grayson?” asked the prosecutor.

 

“No, sir.”

 

“If I were to tell you he was about five foot ten, sort of stocky, with graying hair and a beard, would this help you recall him?”

 

“No, sir. I don’t recall ever seeing such a person.”

 

“Did you see anyone fitting his description in the vicinity of the alley we’ve been talking about when you passed by that area at approximately 4:45 on the afternoon of the fifteenth?”

 

“Objection, asked and answered,” said Anna. “She’s already said she doesn’t recall ever seeing such a person.”

 

“Overruled. The witness will answer.”

 

“No, sir, I don’t recall seeing such a person at that time.”

 

The prosecutor had clearly expected a different answer. He shuffled some papers. After a minute, he said, “I have nothing further.”

 

Mrs. Morrison started to step down. “Stay where you are, please,” said the judge. “Miss Simmons may have some questions for you. Miss Simmons?”

 

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Morrison,” said Anna pleasantly. 

 

“Good afternoon, Miss Simmons,” said Mrs. Morrison.

 

“Mrs. Morrison, Mr. Roberts was just asking you if you saw a particular person when you were in the vicinity of the alley on October 15. I’d like to ask a slightly broader question. Talking about a distance starting from the alley and going one block in each direction on C Street, would you please tell the jury approximately how many people you saw on your side of the street?”

 

Mrs. Morrison suddenly looked wary. “Well, it was getting dark, and I couldn’t see all that well—”

 

“Just approximately, Mrs. Morrison. Did you see one person? Five? Ten? Twenty?”

 

“Counting my son?”

 

“No, ma’am.”

 

“I probably saw—two or three people, maybe.”

 

“I see. Do you know the names of any of those people?”

 

“Yes. I saw Joe Cartwright.”

 

“Did you speak to him?”

 

“I said hello, he said hello, we both kept going.”

 

“Who else did you see, Mrs. Morrison?”

 

“I saw a little Chinese girl.”

 

“What was her name?”

 

“How would I know that? She was just a Chinese girl.” Mrs. Morrison waved her hand as if to dispel the ludicrous nature of such a question.

 

“Did you speak to her?” asked Anna.

 

Mrs. Morrison exhaled impatiently. “I didn’t know her,” she said, as if that explained everything.

 

“Where did you see this girl? To clarify—as you were walking toward the mercantile, did you encounter her before you came to the alley or afterward?”

 

“I don’t remember. I only recall her at all because Robbie said something to her.”

 

“Does your son know this girl?” Anna wasn’t entirely certain why she was asking the question.

 

“Well, occasionally, I have caught my little Robbie trying to play with one of those Chinese children,” said Mrs. Morrison.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. Would you please explain?” Anna kept her tone steady, even as flames of fury began to lick at the edges.

 

“Of course you don’t understand, dear.” Mrs. Morrison’s smile was as fake as those second-story facades in the new part of town. “After all, you’re not a mother.”

 

The hush in the room was suddenly more so. Everybody knew that Anna and Hoss had been keeping company, but they also knew that Anna was almost Hoss’ age, which meant that if she wasn’t thirty yet, she was close. And yet, here she was, dilly-dallying around in an office and a courthouse, instead of settling down and starting a family before it was too late. More than a few people had commented that if Miss Simmons wasn’t careful, Hoss Cartwright might just find himself a young filly who would give him a whole passel of kids. A man couldn’t be expected to wait forever, after all.

 

Evenly, Anna said, “Then please explain to the gentlemen of the jury what you mean. Are you suggesting that Robbie ought not to have played with this child because she is Chinese?”

 

The words were barely out of her mouth before the enormity of her mistake slammed into her. She could almost hear the prosecutor grinning. The shock on Adelaide Morrison’s face would have been funny in another setting. Beside her, Joe didn’t move, but she could feel him questioning.

 

She drew a deep breath. “Question withdrawn. Mrs. Morrison, after you passed Mr. Cartwright on the street, what happened next?” 

 

“I…we went down to the mercantile,” said Mrs. Morrison. The shock was fading, replaced by that fury well-bred women can throw at each other like daggers, even as their demeanor remains impeccably ladylike.

 

“Did you, at any time, hear any sound coming from the alley when you were in that vicinity?” Anything at all, like someone who was in pain because they were bleeding? Please, God, let her tell the truth. Don’t let her take her anger out on Joe. Please. . . .

 

Adelaide Morrison looked Anna straight in the eye. “No,” she said, almost as if she were sad to admit it.

 

“Mrs. Morrison—didn’t you hear anything at all? Not even, say, a voice coming from that alley?”

 

“Nothing at all,” Mrs. Morrison said firmly. “We just passed Joe Cartwright and went on our way. There was absolutely nothing happening in that alley. We went to the mercantile, and then Lotta Harrison came in and told us she’d seen Joe Cartwright and he was all covered in blood. Poor Mr. Grayson,” she added reflectively.

 

***********

 

“Missy?” Jiang Xi stood in the doorway of Anna’s study with a tray.

 

“What? Oh, thank you, Jiang Xi,” said Anna. Wearily, she sat back as the young woman placed the teacup in front of her. 

 

The question was how much damage Adelaide Morrison had done. The Cartwrights had barely looked at her when that witch stepped down. When court recessed for the day, Ben gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder, but it was clear that even he knew how badly things had gone. Roberts had grinned at her on the way out and commented on how glad he was that the sheriff had remembered to bring the jacket and knife to court. “Juries like to see those things,” he said. She resisted the urge to trip him.

 

She’d begged off dinner with the Cartwrights. She couldn’t bear to sit there, rehashing the day, listening to them try to convince themselves that things weren’t as bleak as they looked. Most of all, she couldn’t bear the idea of what she knew she’d hear from Hoss:  nothing. He couldn’t lie worth a damn, and he wouldn’t condemn, and she would not stand for his pity. She’d taken a few minutes alone with Joe to reassure him as best she could and squeezed his hand, promising that they’d meet early in the morning to review the next day’s testimony. Then, she said goodnight and was out the door before someone could insist on walking her home.

 

She would have loved to have a stiff drink and go to bed, but there was research to be done: she had to figure out how to convince a jury that the unidentified bleeding person might have killed Grayson, or at least to get enough of that theory into evidence to create reasonable doubt about Joe. Not that she was concentrating on the law, though. All she could see was Hoss’ face when she told him about the possibility of an insanity defense. He’d never looked at her like that. It was as if she’d said it was all over, that she was giving up on Joe. He still seemed to think that she could create something out of nothing. 

 

And yet, hadn’t she done just that? The jacket could be the key to everything. Now, all they had to do was to find the third person.

 

All they had to do, she thought dryly. 

 

It occurred to her that, even if Joe survived this trial, she and Hoss might not. The thought was so sharp and painful that she closed her eyes for a minute. For the first time, she regretted her profession. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to take this on. Maybe she’d asked too much of Hoss, looking for him to be her support and her partner when it was his brother’s life on the line. Maybe she had asked too much of herself, believing that she could balance this case and her own life. Maybe she should have told them to get someone else. 

 

No. Everything in her rebelled at the idea. She could take better care of Little Joe than any other lawyer. She knew that. If someone else had been handling the case, she’d have been chafing at the bit.

 

And nobody would have thought about the jacket.

 

Anna sighed and sipped the tea. The warmth spread through her, and she tried to relax. As if a woman could relax under these circumstances. Even if she won the case, she might already have lost the man she loved.

 

Then she became aware that, atypically, the young Chinese woman had remained standing beside the desk. “Is there something else, Jiang Xi?” Anna asked. Please, God, don’t let there be some problem with Number Six Cousin’s Number Four Daughter’s Number Eighty-Third Nephew Twice Removed, she thought. She could barely stay awake as it was. 

 

“Missy, Numbeh Two Cousin talk to Jiang Xi,” Jiang Xi said hesitantly.

 

“And?” Anna tried not to sound impatient.

 

“Missy need talk to li’l boy,” said Jiang Xi.

 

“Little boy? What little boy? Why?” 

 

“Li’l boy see Numbeh Thlee Son,” said Jiang Xi.

 

“Who? Who’s Number Three Son?” 

 

Timidly, Jiang Xi reached in front of Anna and tapped lightly on the stack of paper in front of her. 

 

“Number Three Son?” Anna looked at the papers. The warrant for Joe’s arrest lay on top. “Do you mean Joe Cartwright?”

 

Jiang Xi nodded. “Li’l boy see all.”

 

“Jiang Xi, who’s the little boy? What did he see? Who’s Number Two Cousin?” Anna’s fatigue vanished. 

 

“Li’l boy see Numbeh Thlee Son,” repeated Jiang Xi. “Numbeh Two Cousin wo’k at Pondelosa.”

 

When this is all over, I’m finding this girl an English teacher, thought Anna. “Your number two cousin is Hop Sing?” Jiang Xi nodded. “Come on,” Anna said, pulling the young woman with her. “We’re going out to the Ponderosa. We’ve got to talk to Hop Sing.”

 

Ten minutes later, Anna was pounding on the door of the Cartwrights’ suite. Hoss opened the door, bleary-eyed, hair mussed. His first reaction at the sight of her was a big smile, but it faded almost immediately as he recalled their last words. “What’s the matter? Is Joe okay? Pa’s still with him, ain’t he?”

 

“You have to take us out to the Ponderosa, now,” said Anna.

 

“What? It’s after ten o’clock. What do you need from out there?”

 

“Hoss? What’s going on?” Adam came up behind his brother, buttoning his shirt. “What’s the matter, Anna? Is Joe all right?”

 

“Anna wants to go to the Ponderosa,” said Hoss, yawning. 

 

“Why?” asked Adam.

 

“Hop Sing says there’s a little boy who saw what happened,” Anna said. “We have to talk to him, now.”

 

“Wait, wait,” said Hoss. “How do you know?”

 

“Because he told Jiang Xi! Now, come on! Look, I know you’re mad at me, but we need to go out to the Ponderosa, and we need to go now, and you can be mad later if you still want to,” said Anna.

 

“No Pondelosa,” said Jiang Xi.

 

“What?” Anna turned to the young woman.

 

“No Pondelosa,” she repeated.

 

“Why don’t you two come inside,” suggested Adam when it became clear that Hoss’ manners had deserted him for some reason. He shoved his large brother aside and guided the ladies into the sitting room. “Now, let me see if I understand this. Hop Sing talked to—I’m sorry, I don’t know your name—”

 

“Jiang Xi…” Anna supplied.

 

“Jiang Xi, and he told her that there was a little boy who saw what happened, but Hop Sing’s not at the Ponderosa?”

 

“That seems to be the gist of it,” said Anna. “Except that it appears that the new question is where the devil Hop Sing is. Do you know?” she added, turning to the young woman. “Where is Hop Sing?”

 

“Sun Zheng,” whispered Jiang Xi.

 

“Where’s that?” Anna threw up her hands.

 

“Calm down,” said Hoss coldly. “Sun Zheng ain’t a ‘that’. I think he runs one of them laundries.”

 

“Good, because that’ll narrow it down,” said Adam dryly.

 

“Numbeh Thlee Cousin,” said Jiang Xi.

 

“Who?” Anna asked urgently. “Who are you talking about now?”

 

“Would you jest simmer down!” snapped Hoss. “You’re scarin’ the poor little girl half to death.” 

 

“She’s not a little girl, and she’s not scared! Not everybody is made of glass, you know!” Anna retorted, punctuating her argument by poking him in the chest with her index finger. “This young lady has probably survived a tougher life than half the cowhands on your ranch could ever dream of!”

 

“Well, if she’s working for you, I’m sure that’s true!” Hoss’ legendary patience was running out fast. He was about to grab her finger when Adam stepped forward.

 

“All right, you two,” he said. “As charming as this lovers’ spat is, we have something a lot more important going on right now. Now, Jiang Xi. Who is Number Three Cousin? Is it Sun Zheng?” Jiang Xi’s eyes had been flitting nervously from Anna to Hoss, but when Adam spoke in that calm voice, she turned to him, relieved, and nodded. “Do you know where we can find him?” She nodded again. “Will you take us there?” Another nod. “Good. Thank you.” He turned to his brother and Anna. “If you two can keep from killing each other for two minutes, I’m going to get my boots, and we can go with Jiang Xi to wherever Hop Sing and Sun Zheng are.”

 

“I gotta get dressed,” growled Hoss. He turned and lumbered out of the room. 

 

Adam raised his eyebrows at Anna, whose face was impassive. “And everybody thinks Joe is the one with the temper,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.

 

Fifteen minutes later, the group entered a low-ceilinged home in the Chinese section of Virginia City. Hoss removed his hat, and even then, he could barely stand up straight. The guests bowed to the hosts, and the hosts bowed to the guests. Then, Jiang Xi spoke with one of the women for several minutes while the Cartwrights and Anna waited, painfully aware of time passing.

 

At last, Jiang Xi turned to the Cartwrights. “Numbeh Two Cousin go back to Pondelosa,” she said.

 

“So we do need to go out to the ranch,” said Anna. 

 

“No, missy,” said Jiang Xi. “Numbeh Thlee Cousin come to talk. Wait.” She gestured toward mats on the floor. “Sit. Tea.”

 

With no other choice, the three sat and accepted handleless cups of steaming tea. “Dang, that’s hot,” muttered Hoss.

 

“Of course it’s hot,” hissed Anna. “It’s tea.”

 

“That’s enough,” said Adam in a low voice. “Listen to me. You two will behave yourselves for the rest of this trial. After that, you can do whatever you want, but for now—you will behave. Is that clear?”

 

“You’re not my big brother,” Anna pointed out. 

 

“Maybe not, but I’m big enough to put you over my knee—and don’t think I wouldn’t do it,” he added as she started to speak. At Hoss’ grin, Adam said, “You’ve been too big for that since you were eight, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have anything for you. If memory serves, there’s a stream up near Old Haddam Ridge that needs to be unblocked before the freeze. Should only be about a day or so of standing in icy cold water and mud up to your seat to get the job done. I was going to give the job to one of the hands, but I think it just might need the Cartwright touch, and I’m quite certain Pa would agree—and obviously, Joe’s not up for the job right now, and I’ve got those timber contracts to worry about. So, Younger Brother...” Hoss frowned and drank his tea. 

 

Just then, Jiang Xi came back in, her eyes downcast. “What’s the matter?” asked Anna.

 

“Numbeh Thlee Cousin cannot talk to you,” she said sadly.

 

“What do you mean, he can’t talk to us? Doesn’t he speak English?”

 

“Speak velly good English,” said Jiang Xi. “Cannot talk of li’l boy. Daughter disglaced.”

 

“How would it disgrace his daughter to talk about this boy? Did the boy do something?” Adam was searching for an opening.

 

Jiang Xi shook her head. “Boy see all,” she said. “See daughter, Numbeh Thlee Son, bad man. Sun Zheng cannot talk of boy.”

 

“I wish Hop Sing was here,” growled Hoss. Anna laid a cautioning hand on his arm, and he allowed it.

 

“Numbeh Two Cousin go back to Pondelosa,” Jiang Xi said. “Go in mo’ning.”

 

“So he hasn’t gone yet?” Adam wasn’t certain he’d understood.

 

“Go in mo’ning.” Jiang Xi repeated.

 

“Can you bring him here?” asked Anna. When Jiang Xi hesitated, Anna said, “Jiang Xi, if you do not do this, Number Three Son could die. If we do not find out what this little boy knows, Number Three Son could die. I’m very sorry for Sun Zheng’s daughter, but this is a matter of life and death. You need to bring Hop Sing here.” She was controlling herself only by great effort, and this time, it was Hoss who placed a cautioning hand on her arm.

 

“Yes, missy,” said Jiang Xi. She rose and left the room.

 

It seemed forever before Hop Sing came barreling into the room. “Hop Sing! Thank God!” Adam was on his feet. 

 

“Hop Sing tly to make Sun Zheng talk, Sun Zheng no talk,” said Hop Sing. “Sun Zheng say li’l boy see Li’l Joe in alley, know all.”

 

“What all? What does he know?” demanded Anna.

 

Hop Sing shook his head. “Sun Zheng not say,” he said. “Daughter disglaced. This why you need talk to boy.”

 

“Who’s the boy?” asked Hoss.

 

“Boy with motheh,” said Hop Sing. Adam, Hoss and Anna looked at each other and nodded.

 

“Robbie Morrison,” said Anna.

 

***********

 

“It’s almost nine o’clock,” said Anna, casting nervous glances up the center aisle of the courtroom. “Where is Hoss with that boy?”

 

“They’ll be here,” said Adam. He laid a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right, Joe. I’m sure of it.”

 

“Where’s Pa?” asked Joe dully.

 

“He’s waiting out front for Hoss,” said Adam. “He’ll be in any minute.”

 

Just then, the bailiff intoned, “All rise.”

 

“Stall,” hissed Adam.

 

The judge entered the courtroom, and the bailiff opened court. Ben slid into his seat beside Adam. Anna glanced over her shoulder. Hoss was still nowhere to be seen.

 

“Be seated,” said the judge. He turned to the prosecution. “Mr. Roberts. Any more witnesses, or are you going to rest?”

 

“The prosecution rests, Your Honor,” said Roberts, smirking.

 

“Miss Simmons? Anything before the jury comes in?”

 

Anna glanced back at the door one more time. Nothing. Stall she would, then. If there was one thing any good trial lawyer could do, it was create a plausible diversion.

 

“Your Honor, at this time, the defense hereby renews its motion to dismiss the charges in this case,” she began. “We’ve now heard the prosecution’s case in chief, and Mr. Roberts has produced no witness at all who has placed Mr. Cartwright in that alley. The closest he has come is Miss Harrison, and all she can say is that Mr. Cartwright was on C Street. Well, Your Honor, so was Mrs. Morrison, and so was her son, and so, apparently, was a little Chinese girl. Lots of people were on C Street on October 15. We don’t even know what time the victim died. He could have been dead long before any of these people ever got to that alley. There’s simply no basis upon which a jury could find guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, and so the defense asks that this court dismiss the charges against Mr. Cartwright.”

 

“You’re nothing if not persistent, Miss Simmons,” said the judge.

 

You have no idea, Your Honor, thought Anna. “Yes, Your Honor,” she said. 

 

“Mr. Roberts? Any response?”

 

Anna didn’t hear what he said, because at that moment, the door to the courtroom opened. She turned to see Hoss walking in with a little tow-headed boy. When he caught her eye, he nodded firmly. 

 

For the briefest of seconds, she hesitated. No competent lawyer would put a witness on under these circumstances. She had absolutely no idea what the boy would say. She would have to ask the most open-ended questions and pray that nothing damning came out of the child’s mouth. She thought briefly of asking for a recess so that she could talk to the child. In the next moment, she knew that she couldn’t. She didn’t know what Joe would require in the way of recesses, and she couldn’t afford to tax the judge’s patience before he testified. More importantly, she had no idea whether the boy’s mother knew he was here. If that wretched woman found out what Anna was doing with her son, she’d be in here, raising Cain and disrupting the trial so badly that even if the boy was a good witness, the jury would likely remember only that his mother had had a tantrum.

 

Anna’s eyes met Hoss’. She had no choice. She was going to have to rely completely on Hoss’ assessment that this boy’s description of what went on in that alley was, in fact, what they needed. 

 

And if Hoss was wrong, Joe’s fate was sealed.

 

She turned her attention back to the front of the room in time to hear the judge say, “Motion denied. Miss Simmons, call your first witness.” She couldn’t have said for certain, but she thought she saw a brief twinkle in his eye, as if he knew exactly what she’d just done.

 

Anna rose. “The defense calls Robbie Morrison to the stand.”

 

At Hoss’ nod to him, Robbie walked up the aisle. Anna favored him with her special smile, and was quietly amused to see that it worked just as well on ten-year-old boys as on grown men. 

 

Robbie stood by the witness box and placed his left hand on the Bible. He raised his right hand and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him God. So help us all, God, Anna reflected as she approached the boy.

 

“Hello, Robbie,” she said. “My name is Miss Simmons.”

 

“Hello, Miss Simmons,” he said. “I’m Robbie Morrison.” A chuckle ran through the room.

 

“Pleased to meet you, Robbie,” she said. “I need to ask you some questions today, and I need for you to tell me the absolute truth, just the way you promised a minute ago. Now, you’re how old? Ten?”

 

“Yes, miss.”

 

“So you know the difference between the truth and a lie or a story, don’t you?”

 

“Oh, yes, miss.”

 

“And what’s the difference?”

 

“Well, the truth is what really happened. A lie is when you say something happened that didn’t happen, and if your pa finds out, you get tanned.” The jury chuckled again. 

 

“So, the only things you’re going to tell us today are things that really happened, is that right?”

 

“Yes, miss. “

 

“Because that’s what you promised.”

 

“Yes, miss. And it’s even worse to break a promise than to tell a lie.”

 

Satisfied, Anna picked up her notes. “Robbie, I’d like to talk with you about Tuesday, October 15. Do you remember that day?”

 

“Yes, miss.”

 

“On that day, did there come a time when you and your mother were walking along C Street?”

 

“Yes, miss.”

 

“Would you please tell us what happened while you were on C Street?”

 

“Well, first we went to the dressmaker, ’cause Ma was having a new dress made. Her and Pa were going to a party a couple weeks ago, and she said it was gonna be real fancy, so she wanted a new dress. Her and Pa fought about it, ‘cause he wanted her to go to some other dressmaker who wouldn’t cost as much, but Ma said she wasn’t going to no heathen Chinese dressmaker, so we went to Mrs. Goodwin instead, and Ma made me wait there while she tried on the dress.”

 

“What happened next?”

 

“Well, next, we went up to the mercantile, ’cause Ma said she’d get me lemon drops if I was good at the dressmaker, and I was real good. I didn’t sneak out or nothing, even though I saw Albie Connor and Herbie Evans go past an’ I wanted to go out and play with them.”

 

“Did you see anybody on the way to the mercantile?”

 

“Well, it was I’ kinda late, and there weren’t a lot of people out. Most of ’em were home ta supper, I guess, but Ma wanted to finish up. But we saw a couple people.”

 

“Who did you see, Robbie?”

 

“Lessee. Over by the dressmaker, when we first come out, we saw Mrs. Stephenson and Mrs. Wallace from church. They’re real good friends of my ma’s. Then, we went up the street, and we saw—do you want people on the other side of the street, too?”

 

“Anybody you remember,” said Anna.

 

“Well, over across the street, we saw Old Man Thomas, but I don’t think he saw us, ’cause he had his bottle and he was singin’ to it like he does when he’s been at it for a while.”

 

“Did you see anybody else?”

 

“Do you want people we saw but we didn’t talk to?”

 

“Tell me everybody, Robbie.”

 

“Well, when we first come out of the dressmaker, before we saw Mrs. Stephenson and Mrs. Wallace, we saw Sun Mao.”

 

“Who is Sun Mao?”

 

“She’s my friend, but Ma doesn’t like her,” said Robbie.

 

Anna was careful to keep her reaction from showing. “How do you know Sun Mao?”

 

“Her ma used to work for Albie’s family, and she’d go and help out a lot,” said Robbie. “She’s a couple years older than us, but she’s real pretty. She’s kinda shy, but once she starts talking, she’s pretty funny, and she’s real good at marbles.”

 

“Do you see Sun Mao much?”

 

Robbie shook his head. “Not since Albie’s family got a new cook,” he said. “Ma told them they should be giving work to real Americans, so they hired the Widow Munson, but—”

 

“But what?”

 

“She ain’t near as good a cook as Sun Mao’s ma,” Robbie confided. Anna nodded seriously.

 

“Did you speak to Sun Mao when you saw her that day?”

 

“I did, but Ma just grabbed my arm and pulled me away. Sun Mao bowed to us, but Ma didn’t see her, I guess, ’cause she didn’t say anything. Then, we saw Mrs. Stephenson and Mrs. Wallace, and we stopped to talk to them, and I wanted to go talk to Sun Mao, but Ma was holding my arm, and Sun Mao went on ahead.”

 

“Then, what did you see?”

 

“Well, way up ahead, I saw a man talking to Sun Mao, right by the alley. Then, Mrs. Wallace got in my way, and I couldn’t see for a second, and when I could up there again, Sun Mao and the man were gone. Then, we went up to the mercantile.”

 

“Did you see anybody else on your way to the mercantile?”

 

“Yes, miss. We saw Mr. Joe.”

 

“Mr. Joe?”

 

“Yes, miss. Him.” He pointed to Joe, who was rubbing his arm.  “We always call ’em that—Mr. Joe and Mr. Hoss and Mr. Adam. There’s too many of ’em to call ’em all Mr. Cartwright. You’d never know who anybody meant.”

 

Anna suppressed a smile. The boy’s logic was irrefutable. “Did you talk to Mr. Joe?”

 

“Not really. He tipped his hat like he always does, and he and Ma said hello, and he said hi to me like he always does, and we all went on our way.”

 

“Did anything else happen before you got to the mercantile?”

 

“Yes, miss.” Robbie looked nervous. 

 

“What happened, Robbie?” The boy was silent. “Robbie, you need to tell us what happened.”

 

“Well…” He looked around the room. “You won’t tell my ma, will you?”

 

“I don’t plan to be talking to your ma at all,” said Anna truthfully.

 

“Okay, then. ’Cause she said we should just mind our own business and stay out of everything, but Mr. Hoss said that there wasn’t anybody else to tell what happened and you all needed to know ’cause otherwise something wrong might happen.”

 

“Mr. Hoss was right, Robbie,” said Anna. “We need very much to know what happened.”

 

The boy took a deep breath. “Well, we were about halfway up the block when I heard a girl scream. I turned around, and I saw Mr. Joe turned around, too. It sounded like it was coming from the alley. Mr. Joe was running for the alley, and I tried to go, too, but Ma held onto me and told me to stay where I was. We stood there for a minute, and I could hear the girl, and it sounded like there was a fight. Then, Ma just started dragging me along to the mercantile, and when I said we should go back, she said it wasn’t any of our business. But when we got to the mercantile, as soon as she was talking to Mrs. Gibson, I snuck out and went back to the alley.”

 

“What did you see in the alley?”

 

“I saw Mr. Joe and another man fighting, and Sun Mao was lying against the wall. I couldn’t tell if she was alive or not. She had blood all over her. The man had this big hunting knife and started trying to cut Mr. Joe. I think he maybe got his arm or something, because Mr. Joe kinda grabbed his arm for a second, but then he kept having to jump back to keep from getting cut more. Then, the man came at him, and Mr. Joe was trying to hold the man’s arm, ’cause it looked like the man wanted to stab him right in the face or something. Mr. Joe kept holding the man’s arm, and the man kept yelling bad words and trying to get loose, and then, all of a sudden, something happened, like they tripped or something, and they both fell down. The man fell right on top of Mr. Joe. I didn’t see what happened to the knife, but Mr. Joe pushed the man off him and got up, and the man just laid there.”

 

“What happened next, Robbie?” she prompted.

 

“Well, miss, then, Mr. Joe picked up Sun Mao. She had blood all over her, and he was getting it on him, but it was like he didn’t even know it, ’cause he just kept holding onto her real tight. He went right past me like he didn’t even see me, and he started running down the street. I could Sun Mao’s face over his shoulder, and she was crying and hanging onto him.”

 

Involuntarily, Anna glanced at the exhibit table, where the jacket was prominently displayed. Of course. Holding a bleeding child to his chest—that would leave those stains. She saw the jury foreman look at the jacket, and she knew how her closing argument would begin. 

 

She returned her attention to Robbie. “Was there anybody else around?” she asked.

 

“Yes, miss. A man—I think it was Sun Mao’s pa—was running up the street with some other Chinese people. They took Sun Mao from Mr. Joe, and it looked like they were trying to get him to go with them, but he just turned around and ran back the other way, up past me, and got on his horse and rode away.”

 

“What happened after that, Robbie?”

 

“I went back to the mercantile. Ma hollered at me for sneaking away. I tried to tell her what happened, but she just kept sayin’ that it wasn’t our business, what happened to those people. And when we got home, she made Pa tan me for runnin’ off.” He winced, remembering.

 

“Did anything happen after you went back to the mercantile?”

 

“Yes, miss. Miss Lotta Harrison came running in, screaming like her hair was on fire or something about how she saw Mr. Joe runnin’ down the street with blood all over him. Mr. Gibson came in, and he asked Miss Lotta what she was talking about. I tried to tell about Mr. Joe and the man in the alley, but they kept interruptin’, and then Mr. Gibson went out and came back with the sheriff. It all started to get real noisy, and Ma said we had to go home, so we went.”

 

Anna regarded the boy. She wanted to ask more—had he seen Sun Mao since that night, had he told his parents what he saw, why hadn’t they done anything—but instinct told her that he’d said enough. So, she smiled and said, “Thank you, Robbie. “ To the judge, she said, “I have nothing more for this witness.”

 

The judge nodded. To the prosecutor, he said, “Your witness.”

 

The prosecutor rose as Anna returned to her seat beside Joe. She stole a glance at her client, but he didn’t appear to realize she had returned. He seemed to be staring at the table, but she’d have bet anything that he wasn’t seeing it. Quickly, she patted his arm, but he didn’t respond. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ben leaning forward. She turned and nodded to him, and he sat back, reassured.

 

“Robbie, that was quite a tale you told us this morning,” began the prosecutor.”

 

“It wasn’t a tale!” said Robbie. “It was all true, every word of it!” 

 

“Robbie, how well do you know Mr. Joe?”

 

Robbie shrugged. “He’s a grown-up,” he said, as if that explained everything.

 

“Is he a friend of yours?”

 

“He’s a grown-up,” said Robbie again. He started to roll his eyes, but Anna caught his attention and frowned. “No, sir, he’s not a friend of mine. I just know him from around town.”

 

“Do the Cartwrights ever come over to your house?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

“Do you ever go over to their house?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

“Do you ever hear your parents talk about the Cartwrights?”

 

“Objection. Relevance,” said Anna.

 

“Overruled,” said the judge. “I gave you a fair bit of leeway, Miss Simmons, and the witness is a child. Mr. Roberts, let’s move this along, shall we?”

 

“Yes, Your Honor.” The prosecutor turned to Robbie. “Robbie, as far as you know, has your pa ever done business with the Cartwrights?”

 

Robbie shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. 

 

The prosecutor looked at the boy for a long minute. Finally, he said, “I have nothing further for this witness.”

 

“You may step down, son,” said the judge.

 

“Do I have to go back to school?” asked Robbie. “Since you’re the judge, sir, can’t you let me take the rest of the day off?”

 

The judge smiled. “I’m sorry, son, but that’s outside my authority,” he said.

 

“Can you at least tell my ma that I shouldn’t get tanned for missin’ school this morning?”

 

The judge looked down at the boy, and then at the young man who had saved a little girl’s life and never knew it. He nodded. “I’ll tell her, son,” he said. He said to Anna, “Does the defense have any more witnesses?”

 

Anna had turned to watch Robbie Morrison leave, and her heart lifted. Standing in the back of the room were three people:  Hop Sing, Jiang Xi, and a little man she had never met before. But when Hop Sing nodded, she knew.

 

“Yes, Your Honor,” said Anna, rising. She turned back and nodded to the little man. “The defense calls Sun Zheng.”

 

“Objection! This witness is Chinese!” The prosecutor was on his feet.

 

“Miss Simmons?”

 

“Sun Zheng’s testimony will be very brief, Your Honor,” said Anna, as if this were the nature of the objection. “He’s going to testify about certain matters raised by Robbie Morrison.”

 

“I’ll allow it,” said the judge. “Bailiff, swear in the witness.” Sun Zheng glanced at Anna, who nodded, and he took the oath without anyone pointing out that he did not believe in the book on which he swore.

 

“Good morning, Sun Zheng,” said Anna, bowing slightly. The little man bowed in response. “Sir, did you hear the testimony of the boy who just spoke?”

 

“Yes, I did.” Jiang Xi was right. His English was excellent.

 

“Who is Sun Mao?”

 

“She is my number one daughter.”

 

“Would you please tell the court how her health is at this time?”

 

“She is—getting better.”

 

“Getting better from what?”

 

“She was cut with a knife.”

 

“On what day did this occur?”

 

“Twenty-one days ago.”

 

“Would that be October 15?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Who cut your daughter?”

 

“A strange man. One she did not know.”

 

“How did he come to cut her?”

 

“He pulled her into an alley. He behaved dishonorably.” 

 

Anna allowed a respectful silence. “Sun Zheng, you did not originally wish to come to court to tell about this, is that right?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why did you not wish to come?”

 

“The dead man tried to disgrace my daughter. I felt I could not speak of such a thing.”

 

“And yet, you changed your mind.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Would you please explain why you did so?”

 

“My number two cousin works for the Cartwrights. He told me of the young man’s troubles. He told me that the young man could not remember what had happened. He said that the young man could die if the truth were not known.” He looked at Joe, whose expression was every bit as inscrutable as his own. “I am sorry, young man, for your trouble. And I am sorry that I did not speak. For such a one to die from my silence—that would be a true disgrace.”

 

“Thank you,” Joe whispered.

 

“Thank you, Sun Zheng,” said Anna.  To the judge, she said, “I have nothing further for this witness.”

 

“Mr. Roberts?”

 

“No questions, Your Honor.”

 

“The witness may step down.” Sun Zheng stepped from the witness box. He stopped at the defense table and looked for a moment at Joe. Then, he nodded to Ben, and he walked up the aisle, out of the courtroom.

 

“Counselor?”

 

“Yes, Your Honor?”

 

“Do you have any more witnesses?”

 

Anna turned to Joe. “Can you do it?” she asked softly. After a moment, he nodded, and she rose. “The defense calls Joseph Cartwright to the stand.”

 

The room was deathly silent as Joe made his way to the witness box. Ben clutched his hat. Adam was motionless except for his eyes, which followed every movement his brother made. Hoss leaned forward, focused intently on his brother and Anna.

 

The bailiff swore Joe in. Anna led him through the account of what he remembered before and after the killing. Then she asked, “Had you ever met Frank Grayson before?”

 

“Not to my knowledge, ma’am.”

 

“Have you ever met Sun Mao before?”

 

“Not as far as I know.”

 

“Showing you the prosecution’s Exhibit B—is the jacket you were wearing when you arrived home on October 15?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“Is it in the same condition as when you last saw it?”

 

“The blood has dried, but other than that—yes, it’s the same.”

 

Anna set the jacket on the exhibit table and turned back to Joe. “You heard Robbie Morrison’s account of what happened. Is there anything that you recall that would give you any reason to think he might have made a mistake in his testimony?”

 

“No, ma’am. As I said before, I don’t know what happened in that alley.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Cartwright. I have nothing further.”

 

“Mr. Roberts?” the judge invited.

 

“Mr. Cartwright,” began the prosecutor. “These—memory lapses—how long have you been having them?”

 

“A few months,” said Joe.

 

“Any idea what caused them?”

 

“Objection! Irrelevant!” Anna was on her feet.

 

“Goes to credibility, Your Honor,” said the prosecutor.

 

“Overruled. The witness will answer.”

 

“Mr. Cartwright? Any idea what caused the memory lapses?” Joe was silent. “Mr. Cartwright, please answer my question.”

 

“Mr. Cartwright, answer Mr. Roberts’ question,” said the judge.

 

“Your Honor, I request a short recess,” said Anna. Behind her, she could hear Ben’s chair scraping, and she knew he was ready to spring to his feet.

 

“Not while there’s a question pending,” said the judge. He peered at Joe. “Mr. Cartwright, can you answer the question?”

 

For a long moment, Joe said nothing. Then, for the first time, he began to speak of what happened on the day of the attack. In a flat, emotionless voice, he told how the stagecoach had been halted, of arrows and bullets flying. He told of being held back, his arms pinned behind him and a knife to his throat, as he watched the driver, who screamed in agony as his scalp was sliced from his head, and how drops of the driver’s blood spattered Joe’s face as the scalp was tossed to one of the braves who was holding him. He told of the passengers being yanked from the stagecoach. Apparently oblivious to the gasps in the courtroom, he told of trying to get free of the Indians’ iron grip as atrocities were inflicted on the young woman who had been traveling to Placerville to get married. He told of the old man who tried to run, only to be felled by an arrow between his shoulder blades, and how the braves had laughed as they scalped him. He told of how he’d tried to fight them, tried to survive, and of how they had laughed even as they beat him. And he told of the feeling of the tomahawk blade at the base of his skull and how it had just begun to cut when he heard a bugle, and suddenly bullets were flying and those who were holding him dropped him to the ground, and how he’d rolled over and lay in the shelter of the stagecoach until one of the soldiers kicked at him to see if he was still alive.

 

At last, Joe stopped talking. Quiet sobs were audible throughout the room. Tears streamed down Anna’s face. She looked up at the judge, whose face was stony. “May the witness step down?” she asked.

 

“Mr. Roberts?”

 

“I have no questions,” said the prosecutor, and his voice broke.

 

“The witness may step down,” said the judge. “And may God have mercy on you, son,” he added softly.

 

Joe didn’t get up. Anna approached the stand. “It’s over, Joe. You can leave.” Joe didn’t move. “Joe?” No response. She looked up at the judge. “Your Honor, at this time, I request a recess.”

 

The judge banged his gavel. “Court is in recess. Bailiff, remove the jury and clear the courtroom.” Anna stood beside Joe as the silent jury was escorted from the room. Against the crush of spectators leaving, Ben, Adam and Hoss made their way to the witness stand.

 

“Joe? Can you hear me, son?” Ben’s face was streaked with tears as he knelt before his son. Slowly, Joe nodded without looking up. Ben laid his hand on the young man’s cheek, but Joe’s gaze remained fixed on a place inside that only he could see. “Come on, son, let’s go,” his father whispered, tears spilling over. “It’s all over. You’re safe now, I promise.” Over his shoulder, he said, “Adam, see if you can borrow Doc’s buggy to get him over to the hotel.” He put his arm around the young man and gently helped him to his feet. Hoss reached out to steady Joe as he stepped down. Slowly, Ben guided his son toward the aisle as Adam went on ahead. Hoss walked by his little brother’s side like a sentry. Not once had he even looked at Anna.

 

“Uh, Mr. Cartwright?” The bailiff sounded hesitant. Ben didn’t turn around, or even acknowledge the call. The bailiff turned to Anna, who stood by the witness box, watching the Cartwrights walking away from her. “Uh, Miss Simmons?”

 

Anna tore her attention away from the family. “What’s the matter?”

 

“Well, Miss Simmons—they can’t just take the defendant out of here,” said the bailiff.

 

Anna sighed. “I don’t think His Honor or the sheriff will have a problem with this,” she said. She turned back to watch as the doors to the courtroom closed behind Hoss and his family, and she felt new, different tears starting.

 

“But—I’m supposed to take him into custody!” said the bailiff.

 

Anna dashed away her tears and turned back to the bailiff. “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you,” she said. “I don’t think Mr. Cartwright is going to be a defendant very much longer, anyway.” She pushed past him to counsel table, where she gathered her papers and slid them into her portfolio. She drew a deep, shaky breath. Then, head held high, she walked out of the courtroom and back to her office, where she belonged. 

 

***********

 

Hoss knew that the approaching horse was Cochise before his brother came into view. He lifted a hand in greeting as the pinto climbed the last part of the trail. 

 

As Joe reined in next to him, Hoss appraised his little brother. Joe still looked tired and too thin, but the haunted expression in his eyes was finally fading. In the days following the trial, the nightmares had come back, violently at first, but now they were lessening. The memory lapses were fewer and farther between, the dizzy spells all but gone. Telling his story had cost him, but somehow, it made a difference, saying it all out loud.

 

Joe insisted on going back to court the morning after his testimony. The courtroom fell silent when he walked in. Anna met them at the door, and she stood beside Joe at counsel table as the judge took the bench and looked down at him with almost unbearable sorrow. Joe sat motionless as she delivered her closing argument, imploring the jury to acquit him. He showed no emotion as the prosecutor argued for conviction. He didn’t appear to hear as the judge instructed the jury on the law they were to follow, and Anna laid her hand over his as the jury retired to deliberate.

 

Fifteen minutes later, he stood straight and still by her side the jury filed back in and the foreman announced that, as to the charge of the murder of one Frank Grayson, they found that the defendant, Joseph Cartwright, was not guilty. The judge banged his gavel, and Anna held the young man close for a moment, kissed his cheek, and surrendered him back to his family. 

 

Later, she went over to the hotel as they were packing to go home. Ben embraced her. “Thank you, my dear,” he said. “Thank you for giving me back my son.” Adam kissed her cheek and said simply, “There are no words.” Joe remained seated in the armchair, his head resting wearily against the antimacassar. He tried to smile as she sat on the ottoman and took his hands in hers, but the anguish in his red-rimmed eyes was so raw that she wondered just how much of a favor she’d done him. 

 

And Hoss... 

 

They tried to talk about it, once things with Joe were settled enough for Hoss to be away from the ranch, but nothing either of them said seemed to come out right. In the end, she laid her hand on his and told him that she was going to go back to Chicago. “Maybe some time apart will help,” she said. “Maybe then, you won’t be so angry with me.”

 

“I ain’t angry,” said Hoss, but it wasn’t true, and they both knew it. He, who had forgiven countless slights and cruel words, infidelities and lies and wrongs of every stripe, could not get past what he saw as her betrayal in questioning Joe’s innocence. He had tried, because he loved her so much, but it was just too huge. The idea that she would entertain, and even justify, having such doubts about his brother, his own blood—the disloyalty of it struck at a place so deep in him that he could barely say it to himself, let alone to anyone else.

 

And now, his little brother had come after him. “I thought you might be up here,” said Joe, not bothering to pretend he’d come upon Hoss accidentally. There were certain places on the ranch where they all tended to go to think, and the bluff overlooking the lake was one of them. 

 

“Yep,” said Hoss. He shifted in his saddle so that he was facing the lake instead of Joe. He watched as the hawks swooped in the sky that was as blue as her eyes. The sun on the lake sparkled the way she did when she laughed. The smell of the pines, with that hint of vanilla, was as indescribably beautiful as the scent of her neck right beneath her ear. He wondered how long it would take before what he felt stopped being agony and faded to plain old hurting.

 

“Is she really leaving?” Joe asked finally.

 

“Looks like it,” Hoss said, as casually as if the words weren’t ripping his insides apart.

 

“And you’re just sitting here, doing nothing about it,” said Joe. 

 

“Joe, this ain’t your business,” said Hoss, a touch of heat in his voice.

 

“Like hell, it’s not,” said Joe with asperity. “This whole thing with you two—it’s because of me, and you know it.”

 

“You sure think a whole lot of yourself, don’t you?” said Hoss. “Not everything is because of you. Anna and me—well, mebbe we was never meant to be together.” 

 

Joe exploded with an epithet that would have earned him a tanning several years earlier. “No!” he added. “Don’t use what happened with me as an excuse. If you don’t love her, that’s one thing, but don’t go using my problems as a reason not to marry her.”

 

“Joe…she—how can I marry a woman who thought that you could commit murder?” The pain of her betrayal creased his face. “She didn’t believe in my own brother. How can I marry somebody like that?”

 

“Hoss, I didn’t know if I’d done it,” said Joe. “And I still don’t, not really.”

 

“Well, you’re a danged fool, then,” said Hoss. “I’ve always known.”

 

“That I’m innocent, or a fool?” Joe watched his brother carefully for a hint of a smile, but none came. Frustrated, he backhanded Hoss’ arm. “Damn it, Hoss, you can’t fault her for not knowing whether I was guilty when I didn’t even know!”

 

“I knew,” said Hoss. “And Pa knew, and Adam. We all knew you couldn’t have done it. But she doubted you. . . .”

 

“Brother, let me tell you something,” Joe said. “I was real glad you all believed in me, but you know what? The whole time, all I could think was, what if you were all wrong? I’ll bet you never thought I could hit Pa, either, and I’ll bet that, if you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes, you’d never have believed I did it, would you? Would you?” he pressed as Hoss sat silently.

 

“That’s different,” the big man said stubbornly.

 

“That whole time, when I didn’t know what happened in that alley—I’ll tell you, Brother, it sounds strange, but it was a comfort to me to know that she wasn’t sure either. I’d lay there in that cell at night and think about what would happen if that jury said I was guilty, and how maybe they’d be right, but that you’d never believe it even if it was God’s honest truth and you’d always think there hadn’t been justice and how it would eat you up for the rest of your life, the idea that I’d been hanged wrongfully. And with all that, it helped to know that I wasn’t the only one who had questions about whether I did it, that I wasn’t crazy to be thinking like I was.” For a second, Joe’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Big Brother, I hope to God you never have to know, even for a minute, what it feels like to wonder—to truly not know—if you really are capable of murdering somebody. And maybe other people would feel different, but for me—it helped to know that I wasn’t alone.”

 

“But, Joe…” Hoss began, but Joe held up his hand.

 

“Besides, nobody knows even now just what happened,” said Joe. “Did Grayson fall on his knife? Did I kill him? Was it self-defense? Hoss, to the day I die, I’m never going to know for sure if it was my hand that put that knife in him.”

 

“But it if you did, it was self-defense,” said Hoss heatedly.

 

“That’s probably true,” said Joe. “But that doesn’t change the fact that nobody knows what happened in that alley except for what that little Morrison boy said he saw. Who even knows if he told it right? That time of day, with the light fading—there’s no way to know whether he saw what really happened.” He shook his head. 

 

“Joe—if it was your hand, it was self-defense, and defense of that little gal. No matter what, it warn’t murder, and we all knew that—all except Anna.” Hoss’ voice cracked just a little bit on the last words.

 

“Maybe so, Big Brother, but there’s one more thing you’ve gotta remember,” Joe said. “Sure, she had questions, but you know what? She never gave up on me anyway. I know she was yelling at everybody and making you all run around in the middle of the night, and frankly, I don’t know how you’d ever live with a woman like that, but she was doing it to protect me. Even though she thought I might be guilty, she did everything she could for me. And yeah, she talked to me about that insanity thing. She told me everything about it, the good stuff and the bad. I don’t know if I would have done it, but she was ready to try if I wanted to.” He laid a hand on Hoss’ arm. “Hoss, maybe she had doubts about whether I did it, but I’ll tell you something I don’t have doubts about—if I’d hung, she’d have been standing there right next to me, right up to the end, and she’d never have walked away.”

 

“That was her job,” said Hoss hoarsely.

 

Joe shook his head. “That’s her,” he said. He met his brother’s eyes squarely. “And if her questions about me are the only reason you got for not marrying her, then you’re ten kinds of a fool, and you’d better get yourself down that ridge and into town before you lose the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

 

“Joe—I don’t know…”

 

“Fine. So don’t know. But ain’t it better to not know with her than without her?” At Hoss’ hesitation, Joe added, “Go. If it doesn’t work, if you two can’t figure it out, she’ll leave a day later, and that’ll be that. But she leaves now, she’s gone, and she ain’t never comin’ back. If you sit here, you’re makin’ a choice. So, if you’re not sure. . . .” 

 

But Hoss couldn’t have heard if he’d said any more, because the big man was already heading back down the trail. Joe watched him go, and he listened until the beat of hooves on frozen dirt had faded into the rustle of the dried leaves in the chill autumn breeze. He didn’t know if Hoss and Anna would make it or not. He didn’t even know if they should. The only thing he was certain of was that, right now, they had a chance.

 

And sometimes, just a chance is enough.

 

*****End*****

 

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE:  I have taken liberties with certain purportedly factual aspects of this story, including, but not limited to, the practice of law by women in Nevada in the 1860s and procedural aspects of the practice of criminal law in such time and place. Dissociative disorders, including dissociative fugues and amnesia, are indeed real disorders; however, contrary to Dr. Martin’s testimony, my research does not reveal that such diagnoses were being made as early as the 1860s, either in Europe or the United States, or that there existed professional studies and/or literature on the subject at that time. For dramatic purposes, I have also taken some liberties with the manner in which such disorders typically manifest themselves. As to those readers who have willingly suspended their disbelief on such issues, I thank you for your indulgence.

 

*Merriam Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary (10th ed. 1996)

 

 

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